


181338 (il pal, il sam, sam pal)

by zaemitgetta



Category: Kim Hyojong - DAWN, Kim Hyuna - Fandom, Pentagon (Korea Band), TWICE (Band), Triple H (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: ADHD, Ableism, Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Arrests, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Caper Fic, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Crack, Disembowelment, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Drama, Fixer Seokjin, Fluff, Forger Taehyung, Found Family, Gambling, Gifted Child Syndrome, Hacker Jungkook, Hallucinations, Heist, I'M SORRY OK CHAPTER SIX IS DARK BUT NECESSARY, Korean Art, Lots of Prose, Lots of plot, M/M, M/M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Murder, Mutilation, Omelas, Organized Crime, Pentagon, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Smut, Solitary Confinement, Speech Disorders, Stalking, Street Racing, Swearing, Teacher-Student Relationship, Torture, Weird adults, abuse mention, but there's some humor in there i hope, idol cameos, it WILL get angsty, lots of back story, more tags to come, street racer hoseok, tropes galore, twice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-05-02 03:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaemitgetta/pseuds/zaemitgetta
Summary: A gifted chaebol runaway leads a band of delinquents in stealing an ancient atlas from the man who destroyed his young life, (re)entangling him in the sordid and violent world of South Korea’s highs and lows.Please check out the carrdhere.Trailer is up! See ithere.Author is fueled by feedback, medication and caffeine. Please be guided accordingly.





	1. breaking and entering

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Ok, so my first BTS multi-chapter and it's a heist! Whew. I've been incubating this for a while and now it's here, just in time for our boys' sixth anniversary.
> 
> I will be posting chapters every two weeks or so. Don't worry because I've already plotted this, and all that's left is the writing. I hope you stick with me because I'm really pouring my all into this and don't plan to write anything else until this is finished.
> 
> Visual thread [here. ](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1154976102718115841)
> 
> Chapter 1 [moodboard.](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1137558072539222017?s=19)
> 
> Please take note of tags and warnings. Re: the teacher-student tag, it’s between a character and the bad guy. Please note that I make some narrative choices here, meaning that they are on purpose and weren’t decided on lightly. If you have questions or clarifications, please don’t hesitate to ask! Enjoy! 
> 
> Happy 6th Birthday, BTS! Thank you for helping me find my writing voice again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck,” Yoongi hissed. Namjoon could see him stuffing several boxes into a black backpack. “How many minutes do I have?”
> 
> “Two minutes, if you know how to teleport,” Namjoon deadpanned. His brain kicked into gear, trying to come up with the best course of action in the shortest period of time. “Looks like he’s going straight to his office. Just avoid him.”
> 
> “No shit,” Yoongi breathed.

“Listen, hyung. Let me tell you what ‘Babe’ is all about,” Namjoon pointed his metal chopsticks at Min Yoongi, who raised his brows from the opposite side of the rickety table. The two of them were sitting at a tent bar on some sidewalk in Gangdong District, Seoul, waiting for midnight.

"Babe. You mean HyunA's song?" Yoongi asked, there’s a slight Daegu lilt to Yoongi’s usual low drawl that makes Namjoon’s face break into a fond smirk. The plastic material of the tent did little to protect them from the crisp late spring air, so they huddled close, Namjoon nursing a steaming bowl of ramyeon and Yoongi busy spearing tteokboki and popping the little rice cakes in his mouth.

"Yeah, that," Namjoon spoke deliberately, words tumbling from his mouth smoothly now even though the mental labor of getting them out--choosing the right ones, avoiding those that aren’t--remained more or less the same. Most of his stutter was under control and he felt at ease with Yoongi despite the nerves playing at the edges of his mind.

“Isn’t it about falling stupid in love and wanting to be baby?” the older boy furrowed his brow and inspected a piece of rice cake slathered in hot sauce.

“Ah, hyung, that’s what the companies want you to think. Listen,” Namjoon started. He dipped his chopsticks into his bowl and pushed the ramyeon noodles around as he ruminated his thesis. “You know how as the song goes, her age in the chorus gets lower and lower? First she's 26, then 21, then 19 and then eventually 15?"

Yoongi shrugged, one cheek stuffed with food as he checked his watch. It was a quarter to midnight and they should be on the move soon. Namjoon was unfazed, ranting about infantilization and hypersexualization in the entertainment industry (words that Yoongi eventually came to accept as part of normal human conversation since living with Namjoon), especially toward women. He let him talk, most of the time, because it was better that he got it out now rather than later.

"I mean, she literally goes inside a box, right," Namjoon continued, almost completely forgetting about his noodles. "And when you see her again, she's on this little bicycle, wearing pigtails and looking like a child. That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?"

“I guess,” Min Yoongi mused. "Or she could just have a daddy kink,” he sucked a breath between his teeth to calm the spiciness on his tongue.

“Her boyfriend is two years younger than her.”

“So? The whole point is not acting your age. That’s what makes it fun.”

"Not everything is a kink, hyung."

"Anything _could_ be a kink," Yoongi smirked. "What, Seokjin-hyung never calls you daddy?"

"Stop hypersexualizing me," Namjoon grimaced. “What time is it?”

“11:50 pm.”

“We should go,” Namjoon wiped his chin. “Last receptionist leaves at midnight.”

They walked the two blocks toward the Blackbill Entertainment building, a three-storey structure with an underground parking garage. It faced a nice, midsize park with a lake where Namjoon liked to sit while eating bungeo-ppang. Yoongi would walk around pretending to take pictures of squirrels and trees. Sometimes. Sometimes he pretended.

Yoongi scanned the area to make sure that no soul was in sight. Despite the late hour, he knew that there would still be a handful of people inside: idols practising their dance routines, trainees putting in the extra hours and producers finishing up beats and melodies. In another lifetime, he'd be one of them, sitting in his own studio with headphones on and obsessing over just the right drop. Not in this life, though.

In this life, he and Namjoon were professional thieves, having established a reputation in the Seoul underground when most kids their age were studying for the CSATs. They were barely out of their teens but with Namjoon's brain and Yoongi's experience, they rose above the petty crimes and stayed under the radar for the past five years. Namjoon intended to keep it that way, even if it meant that the older gangs and police have taken to calling them the Bangtan Boys (from that Won Bin gangster movie a few years ago) and both of them found the nickname cringey as all hell.

On this particular May night, their target was a collection of master tapes by Seo Taiji and Boys from the 1990s that have spent a good part of the past two decades in the Blackbill Ent. archives. The most important of these master tapes would be that for _Nan Arayo_ , Seo Taiji and Boys’ 1992 debut single and the song that changed the landscape of Korean music forever. That tape alone cost a third of their total expected payout, which would be around 30 million won.

Master tapes contained the original final mix of audio tracks and were the source from which all subsequent copies were produced. Minute depreciations in audio quality happened with each copy, and so masters had the purest, cleanest, highest quality of sound. Owning the masters also meant owning rights to distribution and production, and, well, when you're a nobody, rights were the only thing you had to sell. And so, even after years of fame and stardom, the rights to Seo Taiji's music remained with the company, and now Seo Taiji wanted them back. It was a happy coincidence that the Bulletproof Boys were big hip-hop fans.

The last receptionist clocked out at exactly 12:01am. Namjoon and Yoongi observed how she pulled the glass door closed, red light on the lock blinking shut. Three days ago, Yoongi had asked why they needed for the receptionist to leave when they were using the back entrance anyway, to which Namjoon tossed him a black bucket hat and a medical mask.

“Receptionist knows most people going in and out of the company,” he responded with a shrug. “There’s only two of them ever since CEO Won started cutting corners on personnel, so they’re probably familiar with faces, if not names. It’ll be much safer without them there.”

“Or,” Yoongi spoke slowly as he mixed 30 grams of solid gelatin with 30cc of boiling water in a glass bottle, swirling it around to make sure the powder was thoroughly dissolved. “We _could_ disable the security systems, _if_ someone didn’t get the recon van impounded, along with all the equipment.”

“How was I supposed to know it was a no parking zone?” Namjoon grumbled, looking up from the layouts and plans spread in front of him. “There was no sign anywhere. Traffic rules are freaking confusing.”

“Just because there isn’t a sign, doesn’t mean it’s allowed,” Yoongi said in a sing-song voice, glancing at Namjoon from the corner of his eyes.

“We'll get it back,” Namjoon replied. “I promise. Anyway, there will probably still be people in the building so if you disable all the security systems it’s going to be more obvious.”

"Hence, the disguises?" Yoongi looked up from his work and at the hat and the mask and the array of clothes hanging on the rack in their living room.

"Hence," Namjoon said with finality. "The disguises. These are the trainees who have the closest profiles to us." He selects two documents from the pile and presents them to Yoongi. "We're going to be covered so the cameras can't identify us but just in case, it's best to get to know our covers."

"That's good, Joonie," Yoongi replied, carefully pouring the gelatin mixture into the plastic mold where Shin Donghyuck’s fingerprint was embedded. Donghyuck, also known as Supreme Boi, was a junior producer under BlackBill Ent. who had a bad habit of getting blackout drunk in noraebangs while his friends got high or went out to smoke. 

“Are we using your motorcycle for getaway?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Ah, hyung, have you given any thought about getting Hoseok to drive for us?” Namjoon winced as soon as the words got out of his mouth. This probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up again, but it was already out so what could he do? For all his 148 IQ and his aptitude for words and random information, social cues were his weakest suit.

Yoongi looked at him dead in the eyes like he had just threatened to burn his family alive. “Yah, you want to die?”

“It’s not like he’s a complete innocent,” Namjoon shrugged, as coolly as he could. Hoseok, mechanical engineering sophomore at Seoul University and part-time illegal street racer, was Yoongi’s boyfriend of almost a year.

“He doesn’t even know about--” Yoongi gestured aimlessly at the mess of plans laid around their Seongsu rooftop apartment, “--any of this. And he doesn’t need to know. He can’t tell a lie to save his life.”

“Oh,” Namjoon pursed his lips and went back to looking at the building map. To be perfectly honest, he thought Yoongi always exaggerated Hoseok’s ability (or inability) for prevarication, but that was enough uncomfortable conversation for that day. They needed to focus on the task at hand.

And so, that’s how Namjoon came to be sitting in the dark at the BlackBill Ent. underground parking lot, helmet on and monitoring Yoongi’s movements on his laptop via the building's own security system. Hacking was something that he had to learn, and he learned it quickly, just like most things. Given a choice, he’d still rather hold a book or go outside and take a walk than hold a device, though. Yoongi and stealing, however, _that_ was a match made in heaven.

He watched the older boy use Supreme Boi’s gelatin finger to get into the back door without a hitch. Once inside, Yoongi walked like he belonged there with his bucket hat, mask and the loose, nondescript sportswear that idols would wear. It took him less than five minutes to locate the stairwell leading to the basement where the archives were located.

“You’re good, hyung,” Namjoon spoke into Yoongi’s earpiece. “S-security’s busy chattering in the office and everyone else is inside.”

“Mhmm,” the other man hummed softly. “Are _you_ good?”

“Yeah, yeah, just--” Namjoon let out an even breath, eyes darting from his screen to the dark parking lot, “--just s-some healthy, garden-variety nerves. I’m fine.”

“Alright then,” Yoongi pressed the gelatin finger onto the scanner. As a producer, Supreme Boi had access to the archives, although god knew he rarely set foot in them. Yoongi shook his head at the thought, stopping midway when the light on the LED screen blinks red instead of green. “Shit.”

“What’s up?”

“Wait a sec,” Yoongi lifted the piece of gelatin to his lips and blew on it.

“Seriously?”

“Got a little dust on it,” Yoongi mumbled and retried the fingerprint scanner. If worse came to worst, Namjoon knew they could try to override the system manually, but that would take a few minutes more than they’d planned. In general, Namjoon hated not following plans. A few tense seconds passed with Namjoon holding his breath. Finally, the light blinks green and he hears Yoongi let out a sigh of relief. “I’m in.”

“OK. The tapes are gonna be arranged alphabetically.”

“I know that,” Namjoon pictured Yoongi rolling his eyes. “Oh.”

“What now?” it was dark, and Namjoon's sight was obscured.

“It’s huge,” Yoongi let out a puff of air. “I think...maybe 20 shelves deep of surface-mounted roller racks. Not alphabetical, chronological. Makes it easier.”

“Copy that,” Namjoon noticed his shoulders tensing up and willed them to relax. Two more minutes and Yoongi should be out. From up above him, he heard random cars speeding on the street and cats yowling a few blocks over. Nerves made him sharper, so when he saw a flash of headlights, he squinted and zeroed in on its plates. “Hyung,” he whispered into his mouthpiece as calmly as he could while backing into the shadows some more, “you better hurry up. Won just pulled up.”

Won was a workaholic in his 60s who liked to come in at odd hours, but he was supposed to be at his mistress’ apartment tonight, as far as the two boys knew. Aside from being a treacherous piece of shit, there were also rumors of him using his company as a front for money laundering, as well as abusing both female and male idols. Neither Namjoon nor Yoongi felt guilty about stealing from him, especially not now that he decided to come unannounced.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed. Namjoon could see him stuffing several boxes into a black backpack. “How many minutes do I have?”

“Two minutes, if you know how to teleport,” Namjoon deadpanned. His brain kicked into gear, trying to come up with the best course of action in the shortest period of time. “Looks like he’s going straight to his office. Just avoid him.”

“No shit,” Yoongi breathed, hoisting the bag on his back and exiting the archives. The door beeped shut, a bit too loudly for his preference. “Then where to, chief?”

“Wait, give me a s-s-second,” Namjoon’s mouth was so dry.

“We don’t got a second,” Yoongi walked toward the stairwell as was planned.

“Just, just wait one s-second. One s-second, hyung. Run up, up the stairwell and out when I s-s-say so,” Namjoon cursed himself for taking so much time to speak. Yoongi held on to the stairwell door and waited for Namjoon’s signal, quiet and patient as he always was. The younger followed CEO Won’s figure as it got into an elevator. “OK, you’re good.”

Yoongi’s quick feet carried him up the staircase and out to the exit floor. Namjoon put the laptop in his messenger bag and kicked the motorcycle to life, driving to the designated exit. He checked his clock, assuring himself that Yoongi would be out in a few seconds. Those few seconds passed and he was still not there.

“Good evening, CEO-nim,” Namjoon heard Yoongi say as he was about to look for the elder. A blanket of cold washed over him and he grabbed the laptop out of his bag again to see what was happening to Yoongi.

Won and Yoongi were standing face to face in the hallway, the latter in a ninety-degree bow.

"Hyung," Namjoon whispered, if only to assure Yoongi that he was still there. His pulse throbbed in his ears.

"Who are you?" the CEO grunted out. Namjoon thought he sounded a little bit drunk.

"Ko Seunwoo, sir," Yoongi answered. “I’m a rap trainee.”

"What are you doing here at this hour?" the older man slurred. The parking lot suddenly sounded too quiet, the cars and the cats of earlier nowhere to be heard.

“I was…” Yoongi straightened up but kept his eyes down, “I was practising with Donghyuck-ssi for, um, for monthly evaluations.”

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Come with me to my office. Let’s see if you have a future here.” Namjoon couldn’t tell by sight but the way Won spoke was unmistakably sleazy.

“I’d really rather not,” Yoongi replied. He licked his lips from behind the medical mask and tried to even out his breathing.

“What did you say?” the man started toward Yoongi. Namjoon had to do something, anything. He looked around the parking garage, checking all the exits.

“Didn’t you hear me, you creep?” Yoongi never yelled, but his voice was getting dangerously close and so was Won. He balled his fists, legs getting ready to run, when a sharp, ear-splitting noise came hurtling through the halls of BlackBill Ent. and in a split-second, Yoongi was off.

Namjoon ran back to the motorcycle after triggering the fire alarm, grabbing the laptop from the ground and stuffing it into his bag. He heard the garage door open and Yoongi came out, head whipping around, looking for Namjoon. Both of them jumped on the back of the bike and accelerated out of the parking lot like a bullet.

The sound of the alarm continued to echo as they drove away at full speed. Namjoon knew it would take the BlackBill people at least 10 minutes to turn them off and 30 minutes to go through emergency protocols, and by that time, they’d be on the other side of the city. Despite his best efforts not to, he let out a yelp from inside his motorcycle helmet. He thought he heard Yoongi chuckling from behind him, too.

They rode until they were at the center of Seoul, and Yoongi let Namjoon off at Jamsil Station.

"You sure you're OK?" the older boy took his position on the motorcycle as Namjoon took the  backpack.

"Yeah," he responded. "Seokjin's waiting for the tapes. With the money. And I would really like to dispose of these quickly."

"Alright, I'll see you at home," Yoongi put on his black motorcycle helmet, face shield up. "Joon," he added as the other turned to go. "That was kind of close."

"Yeah," Namjoon answered, brow furrowed and now not just mildly unsettled by how the night had transpired. "I think," a pause, "I think we really need to get a team together, hyung. Not right away, but eventually. Think about what I said about Hoseok."

Yoongi looked at him with steely eyes and sighed before saying, "Sure." He lowered the face shield on the helmet and revved up the bike. Namjoon turned and sprinted up the station. It was 12:45 am and the last train would leave at one.

\---

Yoongi climbed the flights of stairs going up their rooftop apartment, motorcycle hidden inside the tiny cafe on the ground floor that he and Namjoon used mostly as a business front. People would sometimes (inevitably) become curious about what they did for a living, and the Calico Moon Cafe was a convenient ruse. There were plenty of restaurants on this side of town, catering mostly to students, artsy types and the working class, so they had no trouble blending in. They tried not to attract regular clientele by keeping their hours of operations abysmally irregular and their menu extremely limited to the aglio olio pasta and cafe americanos that Yoongi could make because Joon was definitely useless in the kitchen.

Their apartment building itself was a two-storey red brick structure in Seongsu Neighborhood, Seoul, north of the Han River, and used to be a printing house owned by Seokjin's family. On the ground floor, the cafe sat in between a handmade shoemaker’s workshop and a record store. The second floor was leased to a non-profit that worked to support and promote young artists from underprivileged families.

Seongsu-dong was a dusty, sleepy neighborhood four and a half years ago when they moved in. Its craftspeople, mostly shoemakers who flocked there in the 1990s, had been in danger of being forever forgotten in favor of cheaper imports. Around 70% of the shops and factories were closed by the time Yoongi and Namjoon, barely friends, decided it was better to be roommates with each other than with the hustlers and the junkies and the general despair of the penniless in the city of Seoul. Yoongi was 17 and Namjoon was 16.

It was also around that time that young artists and designers, startups and social entrepreneurs started discovering the neighborhood, having been gradually eased out from the crowds of Hongdae and never really clicking with the elitism of Gangnam. Yoongi watched as these new residents (them included) blended and merged with the area’s original inhabitants, living mostly as a tight knit community that was perpetually prickly of gentrification.

Yoongi unlocked the deadbolt and punched in the code to their front door. They were probably the only ones left in the whole city that still used conventional keys and locks but the apartment had them when they moved in, and Yoongi thought it was charming. They changed the locks and installed a heavy duty keypad lock for extra measure, knowing what they already knew about breaking and entering.

He entered their compact two-bedroom space and flipped the light switch. A simple wood table, flanked by a narrow bench pushed against one corner and a battered navy blue loveseat, served as their coffee table, dining area and kitchen prep station. The kitchen itself was composed entirely of their refrigerator, a sink and a spot of counter space. Yoongi had installed the shelves a few months into living there, and he was proud of the way they still held up. Their walls and floors were done (or rather, undone) in polished concrete, which helped with the heat when they didn’t want to waste money on air conditioning. Two doors on the right led to their respective bedrooms and off to the left was the combination bathroom and laundry. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

He looked at the mess of documents on the table and the maps taped onto their walls and made quick work of gathering them. He grabbed a lighter and some lighter fluid from a kitchen drawer and again walked out onto the cold, predawn air.

Before him, to the south, he saw the expanse of the city, still wide awake. The sky was hazy and the stars were barely visible, unable to compete with the tiny pinpricks of light that made up the mass of the sleepless in Seoul. Yoongi thought back to the people at BlackBill Ent., wondering if he could’ve done any better than them; thinking of how he, too, once had dreams of making music. He remembered the brown piano at the children’s shelter, how his little hands struggled to press the keys to make the sounds that so naturally flowed from his mind. He remembered Soohyun’s own tiny fingers following along, the notes piercing pigments through his otherwise constantly colorless world. He wondered if she was already sleeping and hoped that there was happiness in her heart, despite everything.

Further beyond the lights, he saw the Seongsu Bridge over the river Han and wondered if Namjoon was already at Seokjin’s. He set a handful of papers on fire and dropped them into the rusty metal drum they used for bonfires during wintertime, sitting at one corner of their roof deck. Carefully, he waited for the flames to get bigger before adding the rest of the papers, maps and random pieces of potential evidence. Once he got a good fire going, he took out his phone and checked his messages.

There was one message from Namjoon that said, “Paradise,” which meant that either of them had arrived at their destination. He sucked a breath in and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The payout would be enough to tide them over for the next three months, taking into account the money he secretly sent to the orphanage and to Soohyun’s halfway house and given how expensive living in this city generally was. Seokjin took a smaller cut, which Yoongi was fine with considering they were living at his family’s building for free and the risk he took for fencing the things they stole.

As the papers in the drum slowly turned to ash, he returned to his messenger app and saw that Hoseok was still online. It was 2:38 am, so Yoongi shot him a message, half hoping he wouldn’t answer but knowing he’d be disappointed if he didn’t. After the close call earlier and if he was being honest, he kind of needed Hoseok right then, even if it meant having to make up yet another story of where he’d been and what he had just done.

hey. still up?

A long, oppressive interval.

_Is this a booty call, Min Yoongi-ssi?_

Yoongi couldn't help the gummy smile that broke out on his face. In his mind, he saw Hoseok lying on the bed in his even tinier studio apartment, giant tacky poster of the 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO dominating one windowless wall. He was probably wearing one of his supremely soft white t-shirts, smelling like vanilla and looking like a dream. Min Yoongi _wished_  it was a booty call.

shouldn't you be sleeping? it's late

_Can’t sleep_

_Honk showed me some stuff they had shipped from jpn_

_Thinking about getting neon for my underbody_

Yoongi's brow furrowed instinctively. Yang Hongseok, also known as Honk, was a gearhead at one of the car garages that supplied and serviced Hoseok's crowd of street racers. He was also a gym rat with chiseled abs and a cute face. He looked like he belonged in a fucking k-drama. Yoongi and his small frame and soft, round cheeks didn’t stand a chance.

_You still there, hyung?_

yeah, sunshine. i'm here _._

_Why're /you/ still awake?_

_aww_

just looking up songs on soundcloud.

don't u have class tomorrow?

 

_Only later in the afternoon._

_I have a consult in the am tho_

is everything ok?

_Yep, just ran out and need new rx_

_Ritalins been a bitch to find in seoul_

_Are you busy? We could hang out_

i'll probably open the shop maybe

_Ooh can i come over after the doctor's?_

_I can help boil the pasta or sumn_

sure

could use a hot dishwasher/busboy around here

_Really hyung_

kidding. nobody ever comes anyway

_I could make you come_

really hoseok

 

Yoongi's smile returned and he felt his heart flutter though he tried to keep calm. He knew his boyfriend couldn't see him anyway, but texting him like this still made him giddy.

OK, come over then. Around 10-ish.

Or maybe 11, I dunno

_Lol ok hyung. If you're still closed can I come up?_

Yoongi stilled. Hoseok knew he wasn't supposed to go up to the apartment ( _For privacy reasons,_ he says. _A little mystery is good,_ he panders) but that doesn't stop him from teasing Yoongi about it.

hobi..

_Relax, hyungnim, I know you say it's a mess_

_And I shouldn't, so I respect that._

_Hopefully one day tho_

Yoongi takes a pause before replying.

yeah. definitely one day, hobi-ya.

now, go to sleep so i can sleep, too.

_Okie dokie, hyungie. Love you. <3 _

i love you, too, sunshine.

 

_Ahhhh isn't this too much.._

_Ok i'll try go to sleep now._

_Good night, yoongi-hyung_

good night, sleep well. see u tomorrow

 

Yoongi watched as the last pieces of paper turned into ash and took a stick from Namjoon's little tomato pot to break them apart some more. He thought about how he couldn’t keep lying to Hoseok forever and how he couldn't very well tell him the truth either. Somewhere in his brain, he pins it as something that's a Future Yoongi problem but also wonders if Future Yoongi would be any better at it than Present or Past Yoongi.

"Anything is better than this," he scoffed to himself as he reached the apartment threshold. He managed to make himself believe it for a few minutes, until he was in his own bed staring out the window as dawn broke, wondering how bad he'll have to hurt Hoseok as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Second chapter coming in about two weeks or probably less. ;)
> 
> Thank you to my betas, Am and Victoria! <3
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, [tweet](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta).


	2. enemies, lovers and friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon turned around and walked calmly for the rest of the way to Seokjin's apartment, thankful that his black hoodie was able to conceal all the bloodstains. He pulled his phone out when he got to the lobby and sent a text to Yoongi.
> 
> 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Chapter 2 is a little early, yay! Thank you to my lovely betas, Am and Victoria, for their encouragement and support. My goal is to update every two weeks or so. Writing has been really good therapy for me, thank you for those who are reading or keeping tabs on this. Thank you for walking with me!
> 
> Visual thread [here](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1137558007531728897).
> 
> Chapter 2 [moodboard](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1137558157377515521).
> 
> We get to meet our whole crew and what they do, more or less. There's blood and stalking and bladed weapons and smut in this chapter, so please take note of tags and warnings. Enjoy!
> 
> This fic is cross-posted on [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/745811830-181338-il-pal-il-sam-sam-pal-chapter-1) for shits and giggles.

Namjoon sat in a near-empty train car, earphones in although no music was playing. It's part habit and part deceit, making people think he was more distracted than he really was. In truth, he was keenly aware of how the couple about five feet away on the opposite side of him were mirroring each other's movements, signaling mutual interest. He was also acutely conscious of how the man to his left, two feet away and also on the opposite side of the car, was eyeing him, his bag and backpack. Namjoon licked his lips and tried his best to focus his eyes forward.

Late 20s, about 178 cm in height and 80 kg in weight. Well-built but looked dense as all fuck. He was shorter than Namjoon but probably had stronger upper body strength, although Namjoon _has_ been working on his arms recently.

The train pulled in at Gangnam station and Namjoon got up, senses still alert to the man, who also made his way out of the subway car. Seokjin's place was about a five-minute walk from the station, mostly along well-lit streets with CCTV cameras, save for a ten-meter alley right before his building. Namjoon picked up the pace and crossed the turnstiles, taking brisk strides across the station and down the stairs to the street level exit. He was greeted by the gentrified air of Gangnam, streetlamp lights bouncing off the buildings' glass facades, making everything twice as shiny. Blinding.

The man kept a cautious distance, but Namjoon already knew it wasn’t going to end well. He tightened the straps of the backpack and messenger bag, acutely aware of how heavy the master tapes were combined with the weight of his laptop. It was about half past one in the morning and the late spring air was crisp and cold. It would’ve been _such_ a nice night if he didn’t have some bastard running after him.

He kept a moderate pace but once he got to the alley, he started off on a run. He heard the man’s feet hit the pavement after him. Namjoon took advantage of the distance still between them, dove into a dark part of the alley and crouched down. He heard the man approach, heaving. He waited until the man was close enough before pouncing on him, switchblade already drawn in one hand and held flush against the other man’s throat.

“Don’t you even think about moving. I’ve slit a man’s throat for less,” Namjoon pushed him against the filthy wall of a Chinese restaurant and searched the man’s pants and jacket pockets with his other hand. He felt the butt of a gun tucked in the man's waistband and took it along with the man’s wallet and phone. A surge of anger went through his body, and so he pushed the blade into the stranger's neck, drawing blood and an anguished cry. That’s when he saw it. 

Three thin stalks of bamboo done in black ink, etched across the man’s chest, slender leaves reaching out onto his neck where the red of his own blood had started to stain.

Namjoon froze for a split second and let his brain process the information. It had been years since he'd seen the symbol and all at once his emotions ran the gamut from anger to hurt to sadness, but most of all, guilt. He looked into the man's eyes and saw fear in them. Only then did he notice all the blood gushing down his chest.

He let the man fall on the concrete, sputtering and clutching at his neck. Namjoon wiped the knife on the man's jacket and withdrew the blade before tucking it into his back pocket. He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

"Tell my father his son is dead."

Namjoon turned and walked calmly for the rest of the way to Seokjin's apartment, thankful that his black hoodie was able to conceal all the bloodstains. He pulled his phone out when he got to the building lobby and sent Yoongi a text.

 _Paradise_.

\---

"Hyung, what the fuck," Kim Taehyung opened the door to Kim Seokjin's apartment and pulled Namjoon in, checking the halls to see if anyone had seen him.

 _Of course he'd be here_ , Namjoon thought. _And of course he's naked._

The apartment is a 30-pyeong, two-bedroom unit on the 38th floor of a high-rise condominium in Gangnam District, with dark wood floors and white walls and a decidedly mid-century modern feel, offset by the profusion of art, books and knick knacks lining the walls. Kim Seokjin was son and heir to a South Korean publishing empire, a senior Advertising major at Seoul U, and the youngest established fence in the city’s underground. He did that last part mostly as a hobby.

Taehyung was a year younger than Namjoon, still boyish for the most part, boxy grin beguiling any and every soul he encountered. His mischievous eyes glinted in the faint glow of the city lights penetrating Seokjin's floor to ceiling glass windows. At one corner of the impeccably decorated living room, right beside the rubber tree plant, Namjoon spotted what looked like a painting in a chrome frame with cream matting.

“I see you’re finished with the Schiele,” he noted, and the other boy beamed.

“Yeah,” Taehyung said, approaching the painting and presenting it to Namjoon. It was an exact copy of one of Egon Schiele’s watercolor and gouache paintings, a sleeping woman lying face down, half-naked. She wore bright-colored clothes and her skirt was lifted, exposing her pale ass and reddened labia to the viewer, almost to the center of the frame. Taehyung had managed to perfectly replicate each dab of color and every line stroke, down to the artist’s signature.

“The gouache was a bitch to get exactly right,” he said, looking fondly at the woman’s sleeping figure. “Seokjin found a buyer for it in Berlin.”

“You’re getting good,” Namjoon nodded as he looked closer. Truthfully, Taehyung had always been good. The problem was that he didn’t take compliments easily, less suspicious of criticism and always downplaying his skills. Taehyung grinned at him, set the painting down and called for Seokjin.

"Holy shit, Joonie, what the fuck happened to you?" Seokjin pulled a large hoodie over his head as he went to him, almost snagging the fabric on the onyx sun ring he always wore. He was broad and tall and handsome, and truly, Namjoon felt his heart swell at the concern he showed. "Are you hurt? There's so much blood. Oh, god. Are you OK?"

"I'm OK, hyung," Namjoon reached out to touch his arm but Seokjin backed away at the sight of the blood on his hand. "I'm sorry," he withdrew and tried to wipe his palm on his jeans but that didn’t help very much. "I'm not hurt. You should see the other guy."

"When did this happen? At the record company?" Seokjin continued to ask, his pretty face relaxed only by a smidge. Taehyung walked off somewhere; to get dressed, Namjoon assumed. Seeing Taehyung saunter around the apartment without clothes on was highly distracting.

"When I got off the subway," Namjoon shook his head, voice low. "The record company went fine, though it could've been better." He decided Seokjin didn't have to know about the close call. "Someone followed me from the subway."

"What?" Seokjin’s jaw clenched. "How can someone follow you? They knew about the job?"

"I don't think they knew," Namjoon told him the truth, then added, "He had a Daenamu tattoo on his chest.” Seokjin's eyes went wide. Namjoon checked that Taehyung was out of earshot before continuing. "I took care of it, so don't worry. I have it under control."

"Do you?" Seokjin asked, there's an edge to his voice that felt like someone stabbing Namjoon in the stomach with an icicle. Or it could have been all the blood drying on his skin in Seokjin's fancy air-conditioned apartment.

"Yes. I do," Namjoon answered pointedly. The last thing he wanted to do was fight.

Taehyung rejoined them just then, boxers on but still no shirt. He grabbed a striped cotton throw from Seokjin’s leather sofa, wrapped it around his tanned shoulders and sat on the armrest. Namjoon always thought he looked like a sprite or some other woodland spirit. He looked brightly at Namjoon, earlier concern over his appearance wiped away and replaced by something that looked a lot like mischief. Namjoon took his backpack off and set it on the floor. "Nine Seo Taiji master tapes, including _Nan Arayo._ I trust you have something for me as well."

"Of course I do," Seokjin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why’re you talking like a Bond villain? Sheesh.” He shook his head and turned to the youngest boy, “Tae, could you please get the money from the office?” Taehyung hopped down from the armrest and gave Namjoon a boyish simper.

“I’ll see what I can find out about your visitor,” Seokjin looked at him gravely. Namjoon tried to stifle the smirk coming up on his lips but he couldn’t, and the older man hit him on the arm with a sweater paw. “I’m serious, Namjoon. If someone can follow you that means someone knows about what you’re doing and that puts all of us in danger.”

“What danger?” Both heads whipped around to see Taehyung standing in the living room holding another backpack, this one full of cash.

“The more important question is,” Namjoon responded quickly, taking the bag from his hands and flashing the younger a dimpled smile. “What’s _not_ danger?” Tahyung's doe eyes flickered from him to Seokjin, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head again. "I'll go ahead."

“Wait,” Taehyung grabbed the sleeve of Namjoon’s hoodie as the latter turned to leave. “Hyung, you can’t leave looking like that,” he said, lips frowning in exaggerated concern. “Seokjin-hyung,” he batted his lashes, “he _can’t_ leave looking like that.” 

“He’s right, you better get cleaned up,” Seokjin caught on and let out a chuckle. “There’s some clothes I don’t use in the office closet, just get whatever you need. Taehyung, make sure he gets clean. I’ll be in the room.”

“But--” Namjoon tried to get a word in, but Jin had already disappeared inside his bedroom. Taehyung still hung on to Namjoon’s sleeve like a child, even though he was all of 19 years. Namjoon thinks he should be in school except he didn’t see the point of it, art being a patron’s game anyway and he says he’s already found that in Seokjin.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hyung," Taehyung grinned as he lead Namjoon to the hallway bathroom, letting the throw blanket around his shoulders fall on the floor. The backpack with the money and the tapes lay discarded on Seokjin's handwoven rug as Namjoon allowed himself to be led, adrenaline slowly leaving his body. The night's exhaustion and anxiety weighed down on him suddenly, and he realized that he really could use some humanity right then.

They got to the bathroom cum laundry room, which was done up in white subway tile for the walls and tinier hexagonal black tile for the floor. Taehyung proceeded to the bathtub and adjusted the water until it was just the right temperature, then he let it fill up as he turned to Namjoon.

Taehyung faced him and ran his eyes very slowly across his face, tracing the smooth curve of his nose and the way his plumper lower lip jutted out. He looked into Namjoon's hooded eyes and kept staring into them until the older man started to blink, the attention making him shy. Taehyung smiled, then his eyes traveled down Namjoon's neck, stained with dried blood. He reached out and pulled Namjoon's hoodie over his head, then his shirt. He laid his hands on the other's chest, healthy mounds of flesh warm under his palms as he ran them up and down Namjoon's tanned skin, sending goosebumps through the older man’s body.

"I hope you don't mind me cornering you into staying," Taehyung said in a low, velvety voice. It was sincere and careful, maybe even a bit earnest. For all the impishness that the young artist had, there was an equal measure of thoughtfulness that endeared Namjoon to him, even as children.

“Why would I mind?” he asked, dimples appearing on his cheek again. He cupped Taehyung’s cheek with one hand and let it travel down his neck as he leaned in to kiss him. The younger boy quickly parted his lips and searched for Namjoon’s sweetness with his tongue. His hands went over the parts where the strange man’s blood had dried, breath hitching, until they reached the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans. Taehyung undid the belt and button, lips still locked with Namjoon’s, and pulled his pants and underwear down. “Tae,” he says, “the water.”

Taehyung broke the kiss and turned around just in time to turn the faucet off. Namjoon stepped out of his clothes and dumped all of them in the washer. Seokjin wouldn’t like his bloody clothes laying around in his apartment.

“It’s ready,” Taehyung said, businesslike, helping Namjoon into the tub. The water was warm and comforting; Namjoon let it rise to his shoulders and splashed some water on his face. The younger boy smiled as he held the showerhead over Namjoon’s hair, gently working the shampoo into a lather. Before long, the bathroom was filled with the scent of lemongrass and mint, and Namjoon felt his eyes droop.

“Hey now,” Taehyung rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and scrubbed the dirt and blood off his skin. “Don’t sleep on us.”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” Namjoon smiled, eyes still closed.

“Are you ok?”

“Of course, I am.”

“You still haven’t told me about all the blood. Was it at the job? Is Yoongi-hyung all right?”

“Some stupid punk tried to mug me.”

“Oh,” Taehyung continued to clean him, accepting the information as naturally as one would if they were told about the weather or the day's exchange rate.

“Yoongi-hyung is OK. Hyung is OK,” Namjoon focused on him, smiling that reassuring smile of his that made you immediately believe that everything was going to be alright.

“Is this ok?” his lips stretched into a boxy grin and then Namjoon felt Taehyung’s hand travel downwards, fingers lightly grazing his half-hard dick beneath the water.

“More than OK,” he nodded and opened one eye to see Taehyung staring innocently at him while his hand started to stroke him. Namjoon tilted his head back and let out a breathy moan.

“Are you giving or taking tonight, hyung?” Taehyung’s voice was smooth and intoxicating, a shadow of a laugh hiding behind its tenderness.

“B-both?” Namjoon managed to croak out between soft breaths.

“Greedy,” Taehyung’s smile turned sinful, eyes already lidded at Namjoon’s moans. He adjusted the way he sat on the black bathroom tile and took Namjoon’s cock in his left hand, squeezing firmly on the shaft and rubbing his thumb over the sensitive slit. “Can you touch yourself for me, hyung? So I can open you up better.” Namjoon nodded and replaced Taehyung’s hand. The younger’s other hand slid in the space between Namjoon’s ass cheeks. 

“Tae, please,” Namjoon’s mouth was slack and moans escaped his lips freely, his hands gripped the sides of the tub and he tried to focus on how smooth the material was against his palms to help himself concentrate. Taehyung got up quickly and grabbed a small bottle of lube from a shelf and made swift work of coating his fingers before turning back to Namjoon. Gently, he slid a finger in, earning a gasp from his hyung that sounded like music echoing off the tiled walls.

Before long, he had two fingers inside him, rubbing and turning slowly. He brushed against his walls, making him writhe in the warm, soapy water. Once Namjoon was able to accommodate a third finger without much resistance, Taehyung stopped and withdrew his hand, making the other groan in complaint. He ran a hand across Namjoon’s chest one last time before getting on his feet and grabbing a towel from the rack.

“Let’s go, hyung,” Taehyung’s breath was heavy and Namjoon lifted his eyes to see the erection tenting the young man’s boxers. He took a deep breath and rose from the tub, his own cock painfully hard between his legs. Taehyung smirked at his condition as he wrapped the towel around Namjoon’s waist before taking him by the hand and leading him into the bedroom.

Seokjin was on the center of the bed, typing on his laptop. He was in pajamas now, with the addition of thick, dark-rimmed glasses. Lean legs sprawled on the bed, Seokjin looked like a tall, intellectual glass of water and it took everything in Namjoon not to pounce him right there and then.

“Busy?” he chided as he and Taehyung clambered up the bed beside Jin. He took the damp towel off and draped it over a chair, leaving his whole body exposed. He snuggled up to Seokjin under the sheets as the youngest leaned his head on one broad shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m almost done, just need to send this chapter to my adviser,” he answered. Namjoon watched as he hit send on the document and began to nuzzle Seokjin’s neck. The older boy leaned into it but stopped suddenly, like he just remembered something. “Oh,” he straightened, dislodging both boys on either side of him. “I have to show you something. I think I have your next job.”

“Ah, hyung, can’t it wait?” Taehyung whined beside him, impulsively rubbing himself on Jin’s thigh. The other just chuckled and reached for the younger’s crotch, stroking his still-hard dick over the fabric. The youngest groaned under Seokjin's magic hands.

“What is it?” Namjoon pried his eyes from what Jin was doing to Tae for a second. Sure, sex was great but the exhilaration of a new heist was the best turn-on of all.

“This,” Seokjin launched a webpage showing a poster invite for an exhibition to be held at the Seoul University Library three months from then. The title and name on the page opened a floodgate in Namjoon’s brain, making him feel simultaneously angry, afraid and joyous. He didn’t realize how long he froze.

“Joonie,” Seokjin touched his arm, bringing him back. There was a trace of worry on Taehyung’s face again and Namjoon did his best to get a hold of himself. For the longest time, he’d waited for an opportunity like this, and now that it was in front of him, the rush was almost too much.

“We’re gonna need a credit line,” something in Namjoon’s brain flipped on to business mode. "The payout from the tapes won't be enough."

"I've been thinking of tapping into my trust fund," the older glanced at him, then looked at the screen again, like he didn’t want to discuss it. The thing about Seokjin and Namjoon was that they were almost always in sync when it came to business. At the moment, all thought of sex got pushed to the back seat. Taehyung looked too endeared to be annoyed.

"Your parents won't even let you get near it," Namjoon shook his head.

"I don't really plan to ask for permission, Namu," Seokjin's expression was dead serious as he focused on the poster and the photograph of the exhibition's benefactor.

"You want to hack into a bank?" the other man furrowed his brow, enunciating each word longer than was really necessary. As of the moment, he did _not_ know how to get into high security banking systems. Although he could probably learn, there wouldn't be enough time to prepare everything. They might not have another chance.

"Don't worry, I think I know someone," Seokjin said, like he read Namjoon's mind.

"Can you trust them?" Taehyung popped up from his opposite side, trying his best to be good and wait.

"Mhmm," Seokjin answered. "If you're OK with that," he turned to Namjoon, who had final say anyway, since he and Yoongi were the ones who made and executed the plans.

"I'd have to meet them first," Namjoon said after some consideration.

"I understand," Seokjin let out a breath. "I'll set up a meeting for tomorrow."

Namjoon nodded.

"OK!” Taehyung jumped to his knees on the bed, having tried his best to be good and wait but not being able to wait any longer. “Now that we have _that_ out of the way,” with an exaggerated smile, he closed the laptop and set it on an end table. "Can we move on to more important business?"

He knelt on the bed and took off his boxers, excited by all the talk of heists and credit lines. He wasted no time pulling down Seokjin’s pajama pants and taking the sheets off Namjoon’s body, all the while smiling devilishly, as if nothing was out of the ordinary in having two men’s dicks in his calloused artist’s hands. After a few strokes, he leaned down and took Namjoon in his wet mouth, earning a moan from the older man, whose mind was already swimming in schemes and outcomes.

\---

Jeon Jungkook was supposed to be in class.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be at a PC bang playing Overwatch in the middle of a Monday with a bunch of other class-cutters like him. He wasn't supposed to be playing for bets when he knew they were just high school kids whose only mistake was believing they were on the same level as Jungkook just because they were the same age. He was _supposed_ to be in a classroom at Seoul University listening to an instructor talk about Plato and _The Republic_ , but if he was being honest, he didn’t think he was supposed to be in college at all.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up with the schoolwork, or that he was homesick and missed his parents and brother in Busan. Growing up the way he did, with an exceptional IQ and a propensity for doing well in whatever he thought to do (whether it was sports or music or hacking ticketing for music shows and concerts because a hyung he had a crush on in middle school liked SNSD and he wanted to show off), Jungkook liked to think that nothing was really hard for him. Except maybe boredom.

Uni, for example. He tried, he really tried. For a month, he went to classes and did the readings and tried to join discussions, but considering that he’d spent the majority of his childhood in front of a TV camera, lobbed with endless questions about geography and science and math by grown-ups all too wiling to be impressed, he couldn’t really blame himself for not having developed any social skills. Well, at least he tried not to.

While most kids were playing hide and seek, getting scraped at the knees or having crushes, he was out regaling South Korea with worthless trivia and useless information. It wasn't hard. After all, like a magic trick, there was a certain need for complicity when it came to genius. Jungkook always wondered how long that complicity would last. And so, when at 13 he was offered to study in Seoul on an accelerated track to college, he didn’t really feel like he was leaving anything behind. Later on, he realized that he didn’t really have anything to look forward to, either. For the most part, college had been boring and lonely and altogether dismal. So, even if he knew  _should_ be in class, he wasn’t.

Instead, on this Monday in May, he sat at one of the PC bang's neon-lighted rows of computers, eliminating, with ease and abandon, every one of the players who went against him. The pot of cash held by one of the other boys got bigger and bigger and JK almost started to feel bad about taking their money.

“Jungkook-ah, you weren’t in class today,” a hand landed on his shoulder and Jungkook jumped on his seat. He looked up to find Park Jimin standing behind him, pink hair and glossy lips a spectacle even in the dark room. He was dumbstruck at first, considering how objectively stunning he was, in stark contrast to Jungkook's acne and bunny teeth. Jimin was 19, a Political Economy major and was about the only person at Seoul U who spoke to him on a semi-regular basis. Maybe it was because Jimin had a younger brother around Jungkook's age, or maybe because they were both from Busan? In the end, JK was sure it was mostly likely just because Jimin was one of those people who found it supremely easy to make friends.

"H-hyung," he stammered as his last opponent got up from their chair with a scowl. He got up, too, to make sure that the person holding the pot handed it to him. He gave them a smug smile and a half-cocked salute. He pocketed the cash and turned to Jimin, whom he was sure was aware that 90% of the people in the room were stealing glances at him. "How’d you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin smiled, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "What are you doing here, Jungkookie?"

"Um, playing?" Jungkook furrowed his brow and Jimin hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"I can _see_ ," he raised his eyebrows and surveyed the PC bang, with its stimulating aroma of warm ozone and teen spirit, then back to Jungkook, who was kind of a mixture of both. “Listen,” he let out an exaggerated sigh. “You had lunch?"

"Are you asking me out, hyung?" Jungkook flashed a smile, exposing bunny teeth.

"You wish," Jimin scoffed, flicking a stray strand of hair away from his face.

"I do," Jungkook muttered as they stepped out onto a bright May mid-morning, sun on its way up the sky, accompanied by big fluffy clouds. Jimin walked just a step ahead, posture straight and demeanor much larger than his petite frame. 

“Where are we going, hyung?” Jungkook asked out loud as they climbed down the stairs going to Sindorim Station.

“I know a place,” Jimin said, grinning.

\---

"Is this ‘place’ even open?" Jungkook looked up at the redbrick building in front of them. They had ridden the subway to Ttukseom and walked through the many shoe factories, wigmakers and organic restaurants of Seongsu-dong. Since moving to Seoul, Jungkook had mostly stayed within campus grounds or the immediate vicinity, so he wasn't really familiar with this neighborhood (or most neighborhoods in the city, for that matter).

"It says so on the door," Jimin answered, pushing the glass door to the empty Calico Moon Cafe. The industrial space was mostly made up of an L-shaped counter on the right done in polished concrete and wood with matching bar stools. There were three sets of tables and chairs on the opposite side. Edison-style bulbs in wire cages and industrial pendant lights hung from the ceiling and one wall was covered in the same red brick as the exterior. An abstract painting of disembodied faces with bleeding noses was mounted on another wall and a city bike leaned casually against a rusty metal drum. Large potted plants--mother-in-law's tongue, split-leaf philodendron, fiddle leaf fig, etc.--were scattered throughout the small space. Their size and number almost gave off the impression that the place was meant more for plants than for people.

Just as Jungkook was closing the door behind him, a short, pale young man walked out from what looked like the kitchen. He wore a loose, battered white shirt and gray sweatpants, warm brown hair in a mess and traces of sleep still on his face.

"Um, excuse me," Jimin piped up and the man almost jumped out of his own skin. Jungkook stifled a laugh.

"Who--" he said, eyes squinting at the two of them standing near the door. “Can I help you?”

"Oh, sorry, we thought you were open," Jimin bowed quickly and Jungkook followed suit. "It said so on the door. Sorry, _ahjussi_."

" _What_ did you call me?" the guy's eyes shifted from JK to Jimin, exceedingly confused. Jimin fidgeted and realized he might have overdone the honorifics. "I'm 21, what the-- Damn, it's too early for this."

"It's noon...hyung" Jungkook volunteered and Jimin’s hand flew to hit him lightly on the gut.

Before any of them could recover from the mess of social interaction that they had gotten themselves into, however, the door to the coffee shop opened and in walked a guy in an oversized white shirt, ripped denim shorts and a red cap. He had a small transparent bag hanging from his belt, as well as bright green Vans and tube socks on his feet. He was on his phone when he entered, but then looked up, and joined their awkward staring contest.

“Hi!” the new guy finally spoke up, voice exceptionally cheery. “Hyung, you have customers!” He walked to the confused man with the brown hair and pulled him into a quick side hug.

“Um, we can leave, if--” Jimin started to say, but the sleepy man cut him off.

“No, no, sorry,” he said in a drawl. “I’m sorry, I just got up. Late night.”

“It’s ok, hyung, I got this,” the other man said. He turned to them and smiled again, his cheeks bunching up. “Over here, please.” He led them to a table beside a lavish philodendron plant. “Sorry about Yoongi-hyung, he’s like that in the mornings.”

“It’s noon,” Jungkook said again.

“Yeah, it is,” Hoseok chuckled. “How did you even find out about this place?”

“I saw it online,” Jimin answered. “So, do you have a menu or--”

“Actually, they don’t,” he pursed his lips, which Jungkook noted were a cute heart shape. “They only really serve aglio olio pasta and cafe americanos. But I guarantee they're the best aglio olio and americanos you will ever have in your whole entire life.”

“That sounds good, actually,” Jimin's smile was disarming, and Jungkook tried not to stare. The truth was JK thought Jimin was light in human form, although he would never tell him that, so instead he just hid behind immature taunts and childish ribbing. 

“Great!” Hoseok beamed at both of them and turned to the kitchen, where Yoongi was. “It’ll just be a few minutes.” Jungkook followed him with his gaze and wondered how someone could be that chipper.

“This place is nice,” he heard Jimin say. He was touching a leaf on the philodendron, looking around the space.

“Yeah, thanks for lunch, hyung,” JK said, ducking his head and concentrating on his hands.

“It’s no biggie,” Jimin grinned. “Although I hope you wouldn’t skip class so much. Half the battle is showing up, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me that,” JK frowned. He hated it when people treated him like a child, because oftentimes those same people also expected him, with his precociousness and his gift, to understand things like an adult. It was annoying and confusing, and he hated it. “I’m sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s ok,” Jimin’s eyes were thoughtful and nice, as always. Jungkook was about to say something else, when Jimin's phone went off and he took it out of his pocket to check the message. “Don’t try doing it again, though,” he was still smiling, but there was a gravity in his voice that JK didn’t want to cross.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Jungkook opened his mouth but then Jimin’s phone beeped again. He checked it and put it down, just as he did before. Jimin was pretty popular, so it wasn’t really out of the ordinary that he got a lot of texts. Jungkook couldn’t help wondering how it felt to have that, to have all that love from people without even trying, without having to be able to name all the elements in the periodic table alphabetically _and_  by atomic number. Jimin had just put his phone down when it rang again.

“Ugh, excuse me,” Jimin sighed, though the smile on his face didn’t falter. He turned slightly to face the philodendron plant and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece. Jungkook tried to focus on his hands again. “Sorry,” Jimin put his phone on the table face down.

“Who was that?” Jungkook asked, as nonchalantly as he could. “Your boyfriend? Girlfriend? Special...someone?” he tried not to show how badly he was disintegrating on the inside.

Jimin looked at him then laughed, a pretty sound that bubbled out of his throat and bounced off the concrete walls. “Actually, it’s a guy. And, um, sort of? I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“It’s early, OK? Shush.” Yoongi approached them with two plates of aglio olio and some utensils. The aroma was wonderful; Jungkook didn’t realize how hungry he was.

“Do I _know_ this person?” he asked as Yoongi went back to the counter to get their coffee.

Jimin's eyes glinted mischievously before he leaned in and said in a conspiratorial tone, “It’s Professor Seo from the History Department.” The stupid smile was still on his stupid, stupid face.

“Ew,” Jungkook grimaced. He wasn't really familiar with the name, but he assumed it was some old fart who smelled like moth balls. He cringed, but this time he didn't make an effort to hide it. Jimin made a face at him, which he repaid by sticking his tongue out in impertinence. Yoongi gave both of them a puzzled look as he placed the drinks on the table. He'd just turned to leave when something went off again. Only this time, it wasn't Jimin's phone.

It was Jungkook’s.

And Yoongi’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next update. :) If you liked this fic, please leave kudos, comments or bookmark it. That helps me stay motivated, and I appreciate them very much. Would love to know what you thought of this one.
> 
> Follow and chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta).


	3. the target, the team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I swear to god,” he told him in a quiet voice before walking off. “Sometimes I don’t know who you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Thank you for the nice comments and kudos on the two previous chapters. I really appreciate them. 
> 
> Here we go with Chapter 3, where the target is revealed and the team gets together. I did a lot of research for this chapter but in the end I basically bullshitted my way out of it so please take the details with a grain of salt (especially if you're a hacker, a banker or a scholar of Korean art huhu). 
> 
> Chapter 3 [moodboard.](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1143500581694083077?s=19)

Namjoon blinked himself awake after sending Yoongi the text about the potential new job. Seokjin's blackout curtains shielded him from most of the light coming from outside, but he groaned when he checked his watch and saw that it was already past noon. He wondered if Yoongi opened the coffee shop, not that anyone cared, but he figured that his hyung was probably still asleep. He realized that he was all alone on the bed, a note atop of one of the end tables.

_Went to class. Food in the fridge. See you later._

__\- Seokjinnie-hyung_ _

He stretched and got up, not minding the fact that he was completely naked from head to toe and that his ass was all kinds of sore. Last night was fun, and the 25 million won stuffed in the black backpack on the living room floor made it more so. His mind was still busy calculating risks and drawing up logistics for the next job when he stepped out to see Taehyung curled up on the cobalt blue Jacobsen egg chair by the floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out into the city.

"Hey," he greeted him, leaning on the upholstered backrest. The younger boy had his sketchbook on his lap and a charcoal pencil in one hand, an unfinished cityscape drawn on the paper. Taehyung let out a tiny yelp of surprise and Namjoon couldn't help the smile on his face.

"Ah, hyung, you startled me," his hand was on his heart. “I thought you were still asleep; you sure were snoring real loud.”

"Sorry," Namjoon said sheepishly. "What you got there?"

"Nothing, just practising," Tae answered. "I want to try doing a Longo next. Though I should be using human models instead of Seoul." He looked up and down at Namjoon's naked form, one eyebrow arched.

"What, me?" Namjoon chuckled. "Nah, I'd be a bad subject."

"Seokjin-hyung and I beg to disagree," he smirked.

"Anyway," the other tried to change the topic as his face was already reddening. "Forget about Longo, I wanna see a Kim Taehyung original."

"Ah, hyung," Tae blushed, too, ducking his head. "Compared to them, I'm a one out of ten. There's no money in Kim Taehyung originals."

"I never raised a brother that was one out of ten," Namjoon told him seriously. "Give yourself more credit, baby." Taehyung preened at the nickname and at Namjoon's fingers on his shoulder. "I'd pay big for a Kim Taehyung original."

"With what money?" the younger scoffed good-naturedly. Namjoon ruffled his bleached and intentionally grayed hair.

"Baby, I'd steal and sell the whole of Seoul for you," Taehyung’s expression turned from impish to thoughtful, and Namjoon had to turn away to avoid the weight of it. Suddenly, there were no words.

When he got to the bathroom, he closed the door behind him and breathed. He was an outsider, and he knew it. He never really belonged anywhere, even when he was a kid. Even in this thing he had with Seokjin and Taehyung. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, who stared back at him with hooded eyes and tanned skin, trying to recognize the person that he was. A thief, and a damn good one. At the end of the day, everything had the potential to be taken, even love.

He checked the washer and dryer in the bathroom to find that someone, probably Seokjin, had already run his clothes through them. They’d most likely still be warm when he wore them later. He stepped into the tub and turned the shower on just right, so the water was only short of scalding. As the steam fogged up the bathroom mirror, he thought about the events of the previous night.

It had been three solid years since anyone from his old life had come in contact with him. In fact, he liked to think that they’d already forgotten about him, or considered him dead. That would make it much easier for everyone. Flashes of what happened five years ago passed through his mind and he rubbed the heels of his palms onto his forehead to try and blot them out.

 _Who am I kidding?_ he thought as the hot water ran down from the crown of his head to his back. He knew he couldn’t hide or run forever. Sooner or later, either the Yeoldu or the police or both were going to catch up with him, and he was going to have to face them. In fact, this new job would probably expose him more than ever, especially since the man they’d be stealing from was the reason why he had to run in the first place.

Namjoon felt a familiar bubble of bitterness rise from his gut. In his mind, he knew this job wouldn't change things, wouldn't erase what had happened or what he did. But, he had to try. He had to let them and himself know that he could do it if he wanted to. 

He turned the water off and grabbed a towel from the rack. He needed to focus on more important things, like how to pull this heist off so he could finally, finally let shit go. Because Seokjin was right, he couldn’t have anyone following him after jobs, not the Daenamu nor the Yeoldu nor his own propensity for self-destruction.

Namjoon walked out, droplets of water still glistening on his back. Taehyung wasn't in the egg chair anymore and Seokjin's school satchel was on the gray leather sofa. He was about to call out when the doorbell rang.

"Joon, could you get that?" he heard the older man from inside the bedroom, which was probably where Taehyung was, too. Namjoon shook his head and went to open the door.

For a second, Namjoon wondered if Seokjin had gotten anything delivered, but the boy at their door wasn't holding anything to indicate that he was. Instead, he wore baggy black clothes and a bucket hat, reminding Namjoon of the previous night's outfit. He was also reminded of the bags of money and contraband on the floor, which were still there.

"Wow, thighs," the kid said, eyes wide and looking up then down Namjoon's nearly naked body, covered only by the small towel.

"Excuse me?" Namjoon furrowed his brow. The other boy looked like he was barely out of high school. "Can I help you?"

"Uhm, I'm here for S-Seokjin-hyung?" the boy stammered, looking at the floor. Something about the fact that he looked even more flustered than Namjoon was made the otherwise awkward situation a tad bit endearing. Regardless of the fact that a towel was the only thing covering his junk.

"Oh, hi, JK. Welcome," Seokjin said from behind Namjoon, motioning for him to enter. He gave Namjoon's towel a look, to which the younger responded with an equally puzzled expression. "He's the hacker I told you about."

"What?" Namjoon turned to JK, who was taking his shoes off by the door. "Sorry, how old are you?"

"17," Jungkook answered flatly, wide eyes giving way to a sober expression, knowing that the question was not asked for the sake of formality.

“He’s a child,” he snapped at Seokjin, pulling the door shut.

“He started when he was six, he’s practically a veteran by now,” the older boy shrugged.

“We don’t deal with minors,” Namjoon started toward Jin.

“ _You_ don’t,” Seokjin replied. Taehyung stepped out of the room and greeted the other boy with a slightly confused smile. “It’s not a big deal, Namu, calm down.”

“Namu?” Jungkook piped up. He was still standing awkwardly by the door, only, his attention was fixed entirely on Joon, who suddenly remembered that he was basically naked in front of three other people. “ _The_ Namu? Who crashed the Ministry of Education website in 2005 during the CSAT result posting? And programmed the morning exercise music in Seoul to play Fly by  _Epik High_ for a whole month?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung chuckled from the sofa. His legs were crossed and was watching the whole interaction with an amused expression on his handsome face. “He was 12.”

“Shut up,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes. Jungkook's own scanned the room and landed on the backpacks on the floor. The bag with money was closed but the one with the master tapes lay open.

"Wait, are those the Seo Taiji tapes that were stolen from BlackBill last night?" he asked as Namjoon snatched the bags from the floor, his towel almost falling off in the process. Taehyung snickered on the couch, while Seokjin hid his smile behind his hand. "Sorry, I just… It's all over the news. If you had a good hacker on your team the alarms wouldn’t have been tripped."

Seokjin's smile faded and he shot a look at Namjoon, who shook his head and said, "The alarms were set off on purpose."

"What?" Seokjin spat. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Yoongi-hyung was in trouble," he explained. "We needed a distraction."

"What you need,” Jungkook raised his voice again, only to immediately look down at his feet, “is someone running surveillance while someone else directs the plan." His eyes were sharp when they met Namjoon's again. "I'm young, but I'm not a child. I can take care of myself."

Namjoon scoffed, a bit too harshly, if he was being honest. "We all say that, kid."

"Don't call me that," Jungkook bit his tongue. "If you don't need me, I'll go. Good luck."

"No, Jungkook-ah, wait," Seokjin stopped him. He'd never been one to use his status as hyung; he knew that he was the fence and that was that, Namjoon was the brains, but still. He moved close to him and whispered. “Joon, look. He’s right. We need him, especially after last night. We need to have as many eyes watching  _them_ as they have watching  _us."_

“Listen,” Jungkook interrupted. “I don’t know what is up with all of you, but it looks like a lot of drama, so I’ll just go.” He turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Namjoon stopped him. “Fine,” he sighed. “But this is a job, alright? I’m not babysitting you, we need professionals.”

“I haven’t been babysat since I was ten,” Jungkook snorted. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Fucking cocky-ass kid,” Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Taehyung chuckled from his seat. He flashed the three men a boxy grin, in contrast to the scowls on their faces.

"What exactly do you need me to do anyway?” Jungkook dropped his backpack on the floor.

“We need a credit line. I have a trust fund, but my parents won't let me touch it until I've come back from military service, but to be honest, I'm in no hurry to enlist. The details are here.” He extended his hand to hold out a piece of paper, which the younger looked at curiously before plopping himself on the sofa beside Taehyung.

“Trust funds are set up so you can only take from them after a certain time or if certain conditions are met,” Jungkook shook his head. He took the laptop from his backpack and opened it.

“Yeah, well,” Namjoon said flatly. “We know that.”

“Most of them can only be accessed through in-bank transactions, with the help of your lawyer,” Jungkook continued, ignoring him. “Not online. Which is why most fraud involving trust funds involve lawyers. You’re better off forging an authorization from your trustees.” Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged looks, while Taehyung rubbed his chin with his thumb.

“Anyway,” more keys tapped. “I have something better.” A few minutes passed before he turned the laptop towards the two older men. “This is the KND Bank System,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve kept tabs on it for a while now, maybe a year or so, looking at holes in the system: employee habits, points of weakness, etc.”

“Why?” Seokjin squinted at the rows of script in front of him.

“No reason,” Jungkook shrugged. “Because I could.” He glanced smugly at Namjoon, only to be shot down by the unimpressed look on his face. “Anyway. There’s a flaw in their system that allows me to transfer small amounts they wouldn’t notice from random bank accounts and into a dummy one. I first used it to buy this sick lootbox plus some epic skins on Overwatch when my mom wouldn’t give me any money.” He smirked, hitting enter. “Now, all we have to do is wait.”

“For how long?” Seokjin asked.

“For as long as it takes hyung to put some pants on,” JK blushed and pulled his laptop closer in an effort to hide it. Taehyung gave Namjoon one of his mischievous smiles until the latter went red in the face again and went off to get his clothes from the bathroom.

\---

_Hi, hyung, you wanna go out today?_

not really

_Wow_

kidding. sorry, sunshine, kind of busy today.

namjoon and i need to go over rent stuff.

 

_Oh OK. Np._

i'll make it up to you, i promise.

_It's fine. I'll just pick up some extra shifts at the library._

i'm sorry, hoshiki.

_I’m telling you, it’s fine._

_I’ll see you later, hyung._

Yoongi sighed as he locked his phone and put it in pocket. He wished he could say that lying to Hoseok pained him, but at this point it just came naturally. He kept telling himself that it was for his boyfriend's own good, that it was best for him not to know so he wouldn't get involved. He would keep Hoseok safe. At least, that was the plan in his head as he walked down the stairs going to Calico Moon.

He rolled up the metal blinds just enough so he could get inside the cafe, then rolled it back down to close it. Namjoon and the others were already there, as far as he knew, which wasn't really a lot. Namjoon sent him the text about the new job ("Meet me at the Magic Shop," he said) and then got home and locked himself in his room for the next 48 hours. The only other person who did that was Hoseok when he hyperfocused on his car and Yoongi wouldn’t see him for a good few days.

Yoongi crossed the cafe floor and went into the kitchen, where another door in the pantry led to the back room. Calico Moon was the only establishment in the building that had access to this basement, which was piled high with random things in storage from the old printing house. Far into the corner, a table was set up with several mismatched seats around it, as well as a blackboard.

When Yoongi arrived, Namjoon was already at the head of the table, presiding over their little crew.  _Cute_ , Yoongi thought. Seokjin sat on a battered office chair, wearing a long cardigan and slacks, looking every inch the well-behaved school boy. Taehyung sat beside him, perched on a stool with his chin propped lazily on one hand and fingers tapping one-half of Chopsticks with the other. There was one other boy who was vaguely familiar though Yoongi couldn’t exactly tell from where he’d seen him. He frowned as he got closer to see that the newcomer looked like he should be in high school, not in some thieves’ basement.

"Joon," he cleared his throat and the others collectively looked toward him. Taehyung's eyes lit up like he just saw someone holding a puppy. "Could I talk to you for a second?" Namjoon nodded and both of them huddled behind an old cutting machine.

"What the fuck is this? A daycare?" he hissed under his breath. "Who is that and what's he doing here?"

"His name's Jeon Jungkook," Namjoon explained. "He's a hacker."

"What do we need him for? We have you."

"He's taking care of the credit line," Namjoon explained. "Seokjin-hyung vouched for him."

"Oh, like that's supposed to make me feel better," Yoongi snapped. He really had no problem with Seokjin, to be honest. It was just that his disdain for pretty rich boys was involuntary, even though they were friends. "He's a kid, is what he is."

"God, hyung,” Namjoon let out an exasperated sigh. “After what happened last time, don't you think it’s clear that we need a team? It can’t always just be the two of us.”

"Have you forgotten about Soohyun, Namu?" Yoongi hissed. "There's a reason why we don't work with minors."

Namjoon stilled for a moment. Park Soohyun was still a source of grief for the older boy after all these years, and he couldn’t really blame him. He softened under Yoongi’s steely gaze, but knew that he had to stand his ground.

“He’s not Soohyun,” Namjoon said, finally. Yoongi just shook his head. “Hyung, I understand where you’re coming from, I really do. But if this plan is going to work, we need him.”

“What the fuck is this plan anyway?” Yoongi all but spat the expletive out, and Namjoon bit his tongue to avoid another fight.

“I’ll show you,” Namjoon answered. He turned back to the group and Yoongi followed him, giving Jungkook one last glance that finally made him realize where he’d seen the boy before.

“Wait, I know who you are,” Yoongi said. Jungkook sat up straight in his chair as he peered up at the pale man, whom the younger boy had recognized the instant he set foot in that basement.

When JK walked into the Calico Moon again that afternoon, he assumed that Namjoon had an arrangement with the owners for the use of the back room. He didn’t expect the cafe’s sleepy proprietor to  _be_ a thief himself. If he was being honest, he thought Yoongi looked too frail and spaced out to be a cat burglar. The cat part, sure, but the burglar part? Not so much.

“You’ve met?” Taehyung’s back straightened, his cheek hovering above his slender fingers.

“Yeah, I was at the cafe upstairs with a hyung the other day,” Jungkook answered. Namjoon narrowed his eyes at him, then at Yoongi. “It was a coincidence. Though I should’ve gotten a clue that it was a front when you only served aglio olio and watered down coffee.”

“No, not from that time,” Yoongi squinted at him, and all the eyes on JK suddenly felt warm. “Aren’t you… Weren’t you on that show on KBS? What was that,  _It’s a Wise Child Korea_?” Jungkook visibly cringed at the mention of the name.

“I thought heist crews were all about anonymity?” he shot back, flustered. He turned to Namjoon, whose brow was still furrowed. “Like, aren’t you supposed to give us code names like Mr. Orange or Mr. Pink? Or like, Tokyo and Berlin?”

“You watch too much TV, kid,” Seokjin snickered, playing with a tassel on Taehyung’s jacket.

“He  _was_ a TV kid,” Taehyung sat up straight. “I think I remember that, too! I used to always wish there was something like that for art, you know. Obviously, the left brain is waaaay more important, though.” He clicked his tongue before letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“Can we not talk about this?” JK asked defensively. “I thought y’all were professionals.”

“The kid’s right,” Namjoon said. “We don’t do codenames here, but it’s best if we don’t talk about shit like that.”

“Doesn’t he have too high of a profile to be part of this?” Yoongi drawled. “Well, the fact that he’s an infant should’ve been your first clue that he shouldn’t be part of this, but apparently--”

“I’m  _not_ an infant,” JK didn’t know how many times he would have to repeat it to them. He supposed he could just leave, let them flounder on their own, but the more they tried to push him out, the more he wanted to get in.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and settled into a faded yellow armchair on the other end of the table, right across where Namjoon stood.

“Play nice,” Seokjin warned in a low voice.

"All right, Namu,” Yoongi threaded his fingers together. “What are we stealing?”

Namjoon opened a manila envelope and took out nine blown-up photographs of what looked like really old drawings. He laid them out on the tabletop and the four other boys moved closer, examining the mass of undulating lines and colored dots on the ancient, well-worn paper.

“Maps?” Taehyung asked, transfixed by the minute details he was sure the photographs weren’t able to capture.

“An atlas,” Namjoon confirmed. He turned to the board and spoke as he wrote. “The  _Tongguk Chido_ , made by the prominent but mysterious mapmaker Chong Sanggi between 1760 to 1790. It includes a map of the Korean peninsula and the maps of eight provinces, all hand-colored and bound. Due to the painstaking process of map production during the Joseon era, only a handful of copies were made by the royal library. The current asking price for the Tongguk Chido,” he gestured to the photographs, “is $175,000.00, or 207M won.”

He paused for dramatic effect, and what a dramatic effect it had. Jungkook's already round eyes seemed to grow even bigger. Seokjin and Yoongi, normally reserved and not easily impressed, had their brows in knots and their faces in the expression they both made when they wanted something really bad. On the stool, Taehyung's mouth was slack, overwhelmed not just by the potential payout but by the target itself.

"Three months from now," he continued, "a fine condition copy of the Tongguk Chido is scheduled to be exhibited at the Seoul University Library, Seokjin-hyung and Jungkook’s university. The atlas was procured courtesy of Prof. Seo Daeho of the Seoul U History Department. He's the faculty golden boy, and a member of the Dol Clan”

"The what?" Jungkook didn't realize that he'd been staring at Namjoon. The older boy had asked him to dig things up about Seo Daeho, whom he remembered from his earlier conversation with Jimin. He elected not giving Namjoon this piece of information, but he gave him everything else. Still, he sat transfixed as Namjoon spoke. It had been a while since somebody said something he knew almost nothing about.

“The Dol Clan,” Yoongi repeated for Namjoon, lifting a photograph and examining it. “One of the Yeoldu families.” There was a hint of contempt in his voice, softened only by the fact that he was concentrating on the images.

"The Yeoldu," Namjoon wrote the word on the board, too. "Or, The Twelve. A loose but very powerful organization of South Korea's most eminent families. Together, they control the Seoul underground while maintaining legal personas above ground. They have links to the media, the police, the state. Everywhere, basically."

"So, like, the Korean Mafia?" JK asked.

"More like an oligarchy," Namjoon nodded. "Ten of them have been around since the Joseon dynasty, and took their family emblems from the  _Shipjang-saengdo_ , or the Ten Symbols of Longevity, signifying their long and infinite reign over Seoul and South Korea. They operate on loyalty and competition. The money helps, of course."

"And the other two?" Jungkook caught on quickly. All of this was new to him, and although there was a niggling at the back of his head, it was overturned by ripples of excitement coursing through his body. Kim Namjoon was probably the coolest person he'd ever met in his whole life.

"The other two are fairly new families integrated around the Korean Empire and Japanese Occupation eras," the older boy explained. "The Dol emblem is stone, enduring and imperishable. They deal mostly in land development.” He took out more photographs, this time of a man who seemed to be in his early 30s, tall, handsome and well-dressed. He looked more like a model than a professor, if Yoongi was being honest.

“He’s cute,” Taehyung mused, earning him looks from both Namjoon and Seokjin.

“Seo Daeho is a looter and a scammer,” Namjoon continued, an almost undetectable edge present in his voice. “The main reason he’s not in jail is because he’s Yeoldu and also because he’s one smart motherfucker.”

“You know this how?” Yoongi peered up at him.

"Our friend helped," Namjoon gave Jungkook a look, to which the youngest boy replied with a self-satisfied smile.  "Also, a bit of deduction. Seo is known to be the youngest collector in South Korea, with his Pyeongchang-dong mansion housing a substantial number of antiquarian goods and rare books. Yet, he’s refused almost all requests for access except for researchers that he has hand-picked.”

"He could just be really picky," Jungkook offered.

“Or, because he doesn’t have the provenance for them,” Seokjin said matter-of-factly, his mind already reviewing everything he knew about the antiquarian black market.

"Then why suddenly put the book up in an exhibit?" JK furrowed his brow. "If he doesn’t want people questioning provenance, why put it out to the public?"

"Because he can," Namjoon answered with a small smirk, repeatinf what JK had said about hacking the bank system. "He wants glory, like any of us here. He wants people to know he has it."

"The first lesson in the life of crime, kid,” Yoongi ignored Jungkook’s scowl, “is that the rich, pretty thieves are the worst.” He glanced at Seokjin, who made no effort at hiding his irritation.

“Yah, you have something to say to me, Min Yoongi?” the older boy challenged. Maybe Seokjin lied when he said he didn't like lording his age over them.

"You're only three months older than me--" Yoongi couldn't help the satoori escaping his mouth. "--hyung."

"Yeah, and I will  _always_ be three months older than you, so know your damn place.

“Hey, now,” Taehyung leaned forward to block Seokjin’s view of Yoongi. The two of them were the oldest of the group, and god knew how similar they actually were, but they bickered like little children. “As much as I enjoy this little lovefest, I would really like to know the rest of the plan.”

“Speaking of provenance,” Jungkook spoke up before Namjoon could. “Don’t you need that to sell things like this? I mean, the Transy Book Heist? They would’ve gotten away with it except they needed to prove the books weren’t stolen, which they were. "

"Let me worry about that," Jin crossed his legs and leaned back on the office chair. "The Transy Heist was done by a bunch of amateurs. Besides,” he cleared his throat, “I'm Yeoldu, too. Who's to say the Tongguk Chido isn't some family heirloom I dug up in an attic? I'm sure Taehyung and I can whip something up."

"What?" Jungkook's eyes probably couldn't get any wider. "You are?"

"Of course you are," Yoongi said with a thinly-concealed sneer. Seokjin, with his fancy cardigans and silver spoon upbringing, was in stark contrast to his own. Add to that his unmistakably bad mood for the day and it was a miracle that he was still in the room. He caught a glimpse of Seokjin touching the onyx sun ring on his finger. Of course. How could he not have put it together before? “Hae?” he asked.

“Yes,” Seokjin answered curtly. For all the secrecy and mystique surrounding them, the Yeoldu were known to adorn their property, which included people, apparently, with symbols of their clans. They did this on living beings either through temporary means like jewelry and clothing or permanently through tattoos or other body modifications. This was mostly cosmetic instead of identificatory, however, since the symbols were in popular enough use that they blended with the mass of everyday symbology quite effectively.

The way Seokjin glanced quickly at Taehyung did not escape Yoongi. He locked eyes with the younger man, who only responded by lowering his head and fiddling with another tassel on his jacket.

“Oh-kay,” Jungkook cleared his throat. He expected the air around a group of thieves to be dramatic, but not  _this kind_ of dramatic. “So, what’s the plan, hyung?”

“The exhibit is in three months, like I said,” Namjoon continued. “A night heist would be our best recourse. Libraries take precautions against day time theft, through RFID scanners and security cameras, et cetera. Students are the usual suspects for library theft, after all." Seokjin shifted in his seat.

Namjoon went on, "In general, libraries don’t have a high level of security, but we’d still need to gather intel on the place. Yoongi-hyung, could you take a look around with Jungkook and Taehyung?”

“I told you, I’m not babysitting,” Yoongi droned.

“I don’t  _need_ babysitting,” Jungkook made a face.

“I don’t mean you,” the older boy smirked.

“What? Me?” Taehyung sat up, feigning insult. “Excuse me? I take grave offense. The  _gravest_.”

“JK needs to know the security system and how we’re going to deal with it,” Namjoon explained, patience wearing thin but still there nonetheless. “Taehyung needs to know the layout so we can make a more accurate plan.”

“I know how heists work," Yoongi muttered, hint of a whine coloring his low voice. "Fuck, I've successfully avoided school since I was 12 and now you're making me go to college? Unbelievable. Can’t they go on their own? Jin-hyung goes there, can’t  _he_ take them?"

“They wouldn’t know what to do, hyung,” Namjoon shook his head, hands flat on the table. “It’s just more efficient if you’re there. Besides, Seokjin-hyung has classes.”

“And Jungkook doesn’t?” Yoongi shot the boy a look. “What are you, a junior? Senior?”

“Freshman,” JK answered. “...in college. But it’s ok,” a pause, “I don’t really like going to classes anyway.”

"Why the hell not?" Yoongi looked like he was about to smack Jungkook upside the head. "I swear to god, you spoiled children--" Just then, a thought crossed his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wait, we’re talking about Seoul University, right?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t go. Hoseok has a job at the library.”

“Who’s that?” Jungkook asked.

“My boyfriend.”

“Oh,” the youngest mused. “The guy with the heart lips!” Yoongi almost glowered at him, so he held his palms up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry! That’s just what I noticed from last time.” The older boy relaxed just by a smidge and JK continued, “Well, that’s better, isn’t it? I mean, you can say you’re visiting him or he can help us with details. Like an inside man.”

“What is it with you people and trying to turn my boyfriend to a life of crime?” Yoongi rubbed his temples. "What if he sees me?"

"Make something up," Seokjin rolled his eyes.

"Hyung, please," Namjoon asked in a low voice.

“Why don’t  _you_ go?”

“I need to get the recon van back,” Namjoon reasoned, then added in cautious tone, “Plus, some people might still recognize me from when I was a student--”

“You were a student?” Yoongi looked at him and at Seokjin like they had just grown two heads apiece. “ _When_?”

“A long time ago,” Namjoon tried to get a hold of himself before he lost words again. “I’ll tell you another time, hyung, but for now, I’m asking you to do this and not give me a hard time.”

Four sets of eyes were turned toward Yoongi and he glared at all of them. He knew he couldn't keep undermining Joon's leadership, especially not in front of the two youngest kids. “Fine,” he said finally after a long, awkward silence. “How are we supposed to get in?"

"I'll take care of our school records, hyung," Taehyung beamed. Namjoon heaved a sigh of relief while Jungkook’s mind raced with thoughts of what he had gotten himself into. "Hey, does your uni have a Fine Arts program? I might wanna actually take an art history class or two," he asked Jin with a wink. The older boy grinned, then chuckled and rubbed his palms over Taehyung's thighs. Jungkook immediately lowered his eyes to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks.

Yoongi got up from his chair and passed by Namjoon, who had straightened up to look at the ragtag crew in front of him.

"I swear to god,” Yoongi told him in a quiet voice before walking off out of the basement. “Sometimes I don’t know who you are, Kim Namjoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Next chapter is a Namjoon flashback soooo stay tuned for that. 
> 
> Thank you to Am and C (who is 11 and says Taehyung is the Klaus of the crew) for beta reading! (Don't worry, I take out the smut for before giving it to the 11y/o).
> 
> Follow and chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta).
> 
> Kudos and feedback are much appreciated if you liked this update. :)


	4. tadpoles, thieves and taoism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's when Namjoon first thought about running away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We're back! So, this chapter is a bit delayed because I had to tease out some details and plot points and I wanna apologize, but really, it was for the best. This chapter is a bit longer than I intended but it's also very, very important. I'm really writing this more for myself, so I can clear my head, but I really appreciate comments and feedback from you. Thank you for reading and for being patient~
> 
>  
> 
> Visual thread [here. ](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1137558007531728897?s=19)
> 
> The carrd has been updated! See it [here.](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal.carrd.co/) I added a section on the Yeoldu, like a cheat sheet to the families, but I recommend that you read the first three chapters before going there to avoid spoilers. I also have a little Author's Note with regard to the Shipjangsaengdo (Ten Symbols of Longevity) and the world-building I'm doing and you can find it [here. ](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal-the12.carrd.co/#authorsnote) Please take note that this is an alternate universe where I've taken some liberties in changing the social context to favor the plot, and does not, in any way, reflect the *real* Seoul. I dunno why I feel the need to say this but I am, anyway.
> 
> Thank you very much to Quinn and Am, my betas, who always provide me with invaluable feedback and encouragement. 
> 
> As usual, please take note of tags and warnings. This fic is basically a lot of angst, plot, back story, family drama and the occasional crack and reconstructed history, in addition to being a heist. Enjoy!

“Namjoon-ah!” his mother called him from over the hill. He looked up to see her face already made up and hair already done, hands on her hips and a seemingly permanent furrow on her brow. Kim Nayoung’s lips pursed as she spotted her son shin-deep in the cool water of the pond at the foot of their Jeolbangsan estate in Ilsan, hems of his linen sleep shorts already soaking wet.

He’d been up before the sun was. Noiselessly, he snuck out of his attic bedroom, creeped down the tower staircase and stepped out of the courtyard gates. The stars had just started to fade against the still indigo sky when Namjoon tumbled down the hill and toward the water. His lungs expanded in the quiet before morning broke as he greedily inhaled as much of the crisp early summer air as he could. 

“Yah, Kim Namjoon-ah!” she shouted again, getting impatient because she needed to go back to the house and oversee preparations for his grandfather's _chilsun_. It was his 70th birthday, and Namjoon's parents were determined to throw him the most lavish party the Yeoldu had seen in this decade, no matter how much the old man frowned and tried to turn them down. 

Namjoon cursed silently at how his mother's noise chased away the little pollywogs. He was grateful that she couldn't hear him because he’d definitely earn another tongue-lashing if she did, especially since in the two years that he’d gone to his expensive speech therapy sessions, all it had managed to “fix” was Namjoon’s articulation of swear words. 

The gold bracelet permanently affixed on his left arm was cold and dirty, having been dipped it in and out of the muddy water since morning. He didn’t pay it much mind. Flecks of algae clung to the little grooves that made the jewelry look like a bamboo stem encircling his arm, yet the lotus flowers floating on the pond managed to remain reflected on the bracelet’s shiny surface. It was a symbol of an ancestry that many others would kill to have, but none of this really mattered when you were just trying to catch tadpoles in grubby pond water.

“I’ve been looking for you all over! Aish, you naughty child," his mother waved frantically for him to get up and out. He looked at his jar and checked the six baby frogs wriggling around in the water, just tiny black dots with tails, and his heart swelled. “Come into the house before you catch your death out there!” 

He stepped onto the bank and shivered as the breeze blew on his wet skin. He was tall for his age, his legs long and lanky, which didn’t help when he’d much rather not call attention to himself. He felt the grass between his toes, the subtle squelch of mud clinging to his ears. Grabbing the slippers he had left by the side of the pond, he trudged up the hill to their house.

“Be quick and take a bath, the guests will be arriving soon,” she fussed over him, wrinkling her nose at the dirt on his legs and feet, as well as the jar of amphibians in his hand. He let himself be led into the courtyard, where a party organizer was busy directing the arrangement of tables and the installation of golden paper lanterns. The house was built after the war in the style, of all things, of the old English country house, which meant calling it a “house” was putting it lightly. It had a brick exterior and glass windows framed in white, as well as high chimneys and timber roofing. Namjoon looked up at the stone facade and squinted; this big house was one of the few things that made him feel small. He supposed that could be an overwhelming thought to some, but to him it was a sort of comfort.

The Manor was tucked away in a far corner of the Jeolbangsan estate, which they owned exclusively before the South Korean government decided in the 90s that no one family could own a whole mountain. Of course, Namjoon's grandfather, well-loved yet tenacious former Korean Minister of Education, didn't take _that_ sitting down. As far as Namjoon knew, he somehow browbeat the city into a deal where Jeolbangsan was declared a reserve and heritage site generously “donated” by the Kim family, while also allowing them to keep the parcel of land where the mansion stood. Only Namjoon’s family and his grandfather lived there then, the whereabouts of his itinerant Marxist paternal uncle perpetually unknown.

He and his mother passed through the servants' entrance and crossed the kitchen, where traditional yakgwa cookies were being fried and soaked in syrup and seaweed was being prepared for his grandfather's miyeok-guk. The head cook yelled at the sight of tadpoles in the kitchen, and so Namjoon was quickly whisked away to avoid further incident.

His mother opened the door to the downstairs bathroom and he stepped in. She closed the door, leaving Namjoon to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He took his glasses off and placed them on the sink before he turned the water on and rinsed his dirty feet in the tub. He washed the bracelet, too, making sure to get between the indents. There was a special key needed to unlock it, but that had happened only once so far when Namjoon had a growth spurt and it needed refitting. Once most of the mud was gone, he flipped the drain switch and sat in the tub, watching the hot water rise.

He didn't particularly care for Yeoldu gatherings. There were too many people and too much obligation to be polite. To speak when spoken to, when obviously, speaking wasn't his strong suit. He wished he could just disappear.

His muscles began to relax as the warm water reached his shoulders. His small hands barely hung over the side of the tub, bracelet clanging against the cast iron. He glanced at the jar on the bathroom floor, the little ones wriggling around in the freshwater. Namjoon imagined he was one of them, submerged as he was. Just a tiny tadpole, swimming.

_The first batch of froglets had started to come out of the water a few days ago, perching on the slabs of rock Namjoon placed carefully in their aquarium. He knew that it had been time to return them to the pond but standing by the bank and watching them hop away still reduced him to tears._

_“Why, why c-can’t I just...keep th-them until th-they’re b-b...big?” Namjoon whimpered in his grandfather’s study that day, surrounded by shelves of books and the smell of sandalwood. All the sobbing made his stutter worse, but his heart was too bent out of shape to really care. It was his safe place, this room, and his grandfather always gave him just the right proportion of comfort and advice._

_“The master has, but does not possess. Acts but does not expect," Kim Youngsik had said, leaning over a large mahogany desk where an aged document lay. “When her work is done, she forgets it--” Namjoon looked up at him, brow furrowed. “--that is why it lasts forever.”_

_The little boy's gaze didn't waver, though he barely understood what the old man said. Youngsik's eyes were kind and held no judgement for his grandson's tears. Just like the rest of South Korea, Namjoon knew of his grandfather’s life, yet he always felt like he knew very little of his grandfather’s past. Or perhaps he knew but he was just too young to understand. He knew that his family made their fortune in education, owning a large network of hagwons as well as the very few yet very prestigious private schools in the country, which lead to his grandfather being appointed as a Minister in the 1980s. He knew that the Daenamu was so named after the bamboo: resilient, flexible and green, even in the winter._

He didn't know what his grandfather was talking about right then.

_“Why are you sad to let them go, Joon-ah?” Youngsik sighed, setting down the magnifying glass and resting on an old stool. He moved slowly but with purpose, his age only apparent in the slow way he carried himself in his day-to-day life._

_“B-because,” he started, in between sniffles. He thought about how he collected the spawn from the pond, raised them until they hatched and grew little tails and legs. He thought of how they changed not just on the outside, but on the inside, as well. You see, while tadpoles were vegetarians, frogs were carnivorous. Once they started coming up to the surface to breathe, you had to let them back into their natural habitat. Releasing them later could make all the other wild frogs sick. “Because," Namjoon continued, "I raised--raised them from...spawn and...and th-they’re mine.”_

_"But, how can they be yours?” the expression on Youngsik's face was thoughtful. “How can life that is not ours belong to us?” He paused and moved closer to the boy. “We are merely custodians of those that are outside our nature, Joonie-yah.”_

Namjoon got out of the tub, wrapping a towel around himself and picked the jar up from the bathroom tile before heading to this room. His bed was on one side of the room, laid out on the floor under a skylight, his desk and bookshelves were on the other side. An amateur telescope was positioned by the window, where a small table holding his aquarium stood. He poured the tadpoles out gently from the jar and watched them swim around and settle for a minute. Tadpoles, like most animals, needed to acclimatize to a new environment, and so they mostly stayed still at the bottom of the tank.

“Don't worry, little ones," he whispered to them, hoping that they’d be comforted. "You don't have to stay. I know you’re going to  leave one day. I would, too, if I were you."

He turned to his bed to see that the white and pearl gray hanbok he was supposed to wear had already been prepared, lying alongside an oxblood overcoat with delicate lotuses embroidered in gold thread. He lifted the fine material and groaned, knowing he'd have to be extra careful not to stain in or else he'd be in big trouble again. His heart sank at the thought of the disappointed look on his father's face, and the heavy sigh escaping his mother's lips. 

And that's when Namjoon first thought about running away.

 

\---

 

The parlor on the first floor was set up lavishly for the party, banners and tables extending out into the garden and the courtyard. Tall piles of fruit, traditional cookies and cakes were arranged artfully on the tables, joined by bunches of lilies, peonies and roses placed in intricately carved bamboo vases. Guests, members of Yeoldu families from across South Korea, walked the hardwood floors in an endless chatter. 

Namjoon found strange how normal it all was, Yeoldu gatherings. People walked around in fancy clothes and strange emblems as if this uncle wasn’t a drug lord  or that auntie didn’t deal in illegal gambling. They’d talk about whose son got into a prestigious college or whose daughter landed a competitive internship abroad in one breath, and on the next they’d gossip about  whose districts were being overrun by axe-wielding thugs, striking factory workers or radical vigilantes and what they were going to do about them. Men and women bowed to each other as if they weren’t in constant rivalry, competing over resources and control. Children ran around with heavy feet, innocent of how they would grow up to be mobsters, racketeers, murderers, or worse.

Namjoon sank farther into the olive green armchair he was curled up on, head buried in his new copy of _Kafka on the Shore._ He, his mother and sister Na-ra had gone to see the cherry blossoms at Ilsan Lake Park right across Jeongbalsan and they stopped by a bookshop before going home. He pilfered the new release while the store clerk’s head was turned away, helping his sister reach for a book on a high shelf.

He tried his best to hide the Japanese characters on the cover, knowing full well that he’d get an earful if anyone saw what he was reading. Even more than the fact that he was definitely too young to be in possession of such reading material, the Yeoldu generally didn’t have the best impression of Japan. Largely facing a decline toward the end of the Joseon Dynasty, the Yeoldu was revived in the aftermath of  the colonial era, when young men and women like Namjoon’s grandfather began organizing ranks against Japanese Imperial rule. The irony of these men and women eventually becoming the nation’s new bureaucrats _and_ crimelords did not escape Namjoon’s young mind. All that being said, no one in his immediate family really cared much for the books he read, as long as he wasn't in their way. It wasn’t his first Murakami, even. 

When he was seven, he begged his father for a copy of _Sputnik Sweetheart_ that he saw in a store window, thinking it was a book about space. As a matter of course, his father rejected this request, and so that was also the first time Namjoon lifted something from a store. It was easy. He stuffed the volume into the inside pocket of his puffy jacket and walked out of the bookstore just as easily as they had walked in.

Namjoon could hear his father’s voice from across the parlor and so he tried harder to concentrate on the book's prelude: Kafka Tanaka talking to a boy named Crow about running away. Namjoon glanced around him but saw no friendly faces. His grandfather was still in his study and would probably not come down unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“Kim Jungho-ssi,” a man in a black blazer adorned with swirling clouds in blue thread called out. Namjoon didn’t recognize him but judging by his sickly sweet sycophantic countenance, the boy guessed he was some lower ranking member of another family. “Is it true that our Namjoon started high school last March? Why, that’s even younger than Seo Kyungmi-nim’s boy was!"

Seo Kyungmi was the lady with the ornate jade and coral _norigae_ hanging off her hanbok skirt that his father had been talking to before the man interjected. Her clan, the Dol, dealt in car manufacturing, as far as Namjoon could remember, though he was sure they had some illegal business or other behind the scenes. She had a stately air around her, and didn’t seem to appreciate the man’s presence at all.

“Ah, thank you, but well,” Jungho replied, bowing his head if only for the appearance of humility. His voice traveled across the room, sending color up Namjoon’s sun-kissed cheeks. "That’s all well and good but it's nothing compared to having a PhD candidate at the London School of Economics. How old will Daeho be this year?"

"21," the lady did not miss a beat in answering. "Really, it's nothing to brag about. I hardly had anything to do with it. Our children have been such blessings." Namjoon had to tamp down the vomit threatening to come up his throat. 

"They have, indeed," Jungho said, eyes scanning the crowd. Namjoon bent his head, hoping he wouldn’t be seen. The fancy material of his new hanbok lay crumpled under him.

“Oh, but I also heard our Joon-ah recently had a poem published in the New Korea Review recently,” the man continued, relentless. He must need something desperately to brown-nose that much, Namjoon thought. “No small feat for a young man.”

“Really, Jungho-ssi?” Seo Kyungmi raised an eyebrow, her interest seemingly genuine. “A poet in the family. You must be so proud.”

“Ah, yes,” his father replied. If they were ordinary people, perhaps it would be strange how each of the praises that fell out of his father’s mouth still felt like knives stabbing Namjoon's stomach. "It's a shame he can only write them. True poetry is meant to be recited."

Namjoon started to taste iron on his tongue and he didn't realize he'd been biting on his lower lip, leaving it red and swollen. The bracelet on his arm felt heavier and colder than ever. A knot formed in his throat that he tried to smother like the genuine hate he currently felt for his father.

"Ah, be quiet, Jungho-ya," Namjoon heard a gruff voice come from the vestibule. He lifted his gaze to see his grandfather standing by the door in his simple white hanbok instead of the bespoke red and gold set that Namjoon's mother had made especially for the occasion. He stared down his son despite being much smaller due to his stooped posture, voice still strong regardless of his advanced years.

"Father," Jungho said in a steady voice, belying his embarrassment at being addressed so crudely in public. 

"All you knew how to recite at that age were orders to the servants. You couldn't even go to the bathroom properly by yourself," Youngsik continued, crossing the floor until he was standing in front of his crimson-faced son. Namjoon was acutely aware of how people were pretending not to stare. The Murakami lay prostrate on his lap, forgotten, as he tried his best not to burst out laughing.

It looked like his father was about to say something else when one of the head steward cleared his throat with a bow. Namjoon saw that his mother was beside him, her lips pulled in a thin, tight line now that her beloved party was in danger. 

“Ah, Father. Happy birthday,” Jungho bowed his head, and the rest of the people around them followed suit. “Shall we start the ceremony?”

A beat of awkward silence passed and the party moved to clear the center of the parlor for the Youngsik. Before he knew it, Namjoon's mother's hand was under his arm, leading him up off the armchair and beside his father, who fixed him with a hard look. A long, narrow box that Namjoon assumed contained an expensive bottle of wine was produced and handed to Jungho. Just as they stood facing his grandfather, however, a low murmur carried through the crowd and Namjoon strained his neck to see what was going on. 

He saw a familiar family cross the threshold, all exceedingly handsome and in matching indigo hanboks, simple and unembellished, which made their beauty stand out even more. The mother had a sun-shaped binyeo in her hair and the father and their two sons wore jewelled sun rings. They bowed and apologized for being late, but most of the people around them didn’t seem to mind. In fact, most of them behaved as if they were in the presence of celebrities, and in a way, they were. 

The woman, Kim Somin, was heiress to a publishing empire at the center of the Hae clan's operations. She was sent to Namjoon's grandfather as an apprentice when she and her younger brother were orphaned, their family's assets taken over by the Yeoldu until she was of age. Unfortunately, as far as Namjoon knew, her brother was the victim of a highly publicized kidnapping by an urban militia group in the early 90s, and he was either dead or as good as dead.

Namjoon’s grandfather doted on Somin, in no small part  because she was a girl where he only had sons, but also because she was brilliant and grew up to be practically perfect. She had a small face and soft features, belying her acumen for business. Youngsik had brought her up, after all, and was even the one to give Somin's own sons their names.

The two boys stood beside their father, who, as far as Namjoon knew, was a famous artist or other, always in the news for some artwork or philanthropic endeavor. Kim Inseok was a handsome man with a sharp jawline and pretty eyes, face framed by neatly trimmed facial hair, which nonetheless earned him raised eyebrows from the crowd. Namjoon thought he heard his mother click her tongue. 

Minho, the older boy, was about eight or nine years older than Namjoon. In fact, he looked almost like a man. He was still in high school but rumor had it that he'd already earned his first billion won by selling the prototype for a ride-sharing app that his schoolmate developed. He was also the manager for the Junior Red Devils' Gwacheon chapter, and was frequently in the news leading to the World Cup that year. He was handsome in the same dignified way that his father was.

Yet, the one Namjoon couldn't help but stare at was the younger boy, who stood confidently and was the spitting image of his soft, beautiful mother. 

Kim Seokjin had a perfectly oval face and bright eyes, his posture was easy yet respectful. His shoulders were much broader than Namjoon remembered from the last time they met, which was admittedly a long time ago. For someone who was at the cusp of his teenage years, Kim Seokjin’s complexion was clear and free of any of the scars which were the unfortunate souvenirs of puberty. Namjoon thought of how unfair it was that Jin would probably never have an awkward phase whereas Namjoon's whole life so far seemed to be composed entirely of them. 

It took him another moment to realize that there was a third boy, one he did not recognize, walking just behind the Hae Kim. His skin was noticeably more tanned compared to theirs, his features just as (if not even more) stunning. Long, thick lashes framed eyes that seemed too big for his face, which was angular and defined where Jin's was fine and delicate. His eyes met Namjoon's, but instead of bowing and averting his eyes as was protocol, he looked straight at him and smiled. Wide. Namjoon thought he saw Minho shoot the boy a look, and only then did he cast his eyes down and bow.

"Somin-ah!" Namjoon's grandfather beamed and waved them nearer. They seemed to make a show of apologizing profusely for being late, Namjoon thought. Then, Seokjin held out a box not very different from the one in his father's hands. "Ah, is that for me? You shouldn't have, Seokjinnie," Youngsik said, though he did not extend his hand to take it. Namjoon's father gave the steward a sharp look. 

"Young Master Seokjin," he cleared his throat, keeping his head down. "It's very _nice_ to see you again. May I get that for you?" Seokjin glanced up at his mother, who gave a small nod of her head, and handed the box to the steward. 

"The family will begin the ceremony now," the edge in Jungho's voice was familiar to Namjoon, as it was a mix of irritation and superiority that was uniquely his own. The Hae Kims took seats by one of the bay windows as Namjoon's family took their position facing Youngsik. His parents went first while he and Na-ra stood farther back. The wine was placed on the floor before Jungho began his greeting.

“Dear honored Father,” he said. “I speak on behalf of the Daenamu and congratulate you on your 70th year. This family would not be where it is today without your wisdom and hard work. Our gratitude is eternal. May you have more blessings and more years to guide us." He and Nayoung bent down to the floor in respectful bows, held for a few seconds for dramatic effect, and their children followed after them.

“Thank you,” Youngsik replied, with a small smile toward Namjoon and Na-ra. “Somin-ah?” Namjoon glanced up to see the stony expression on his father's face. His grandfather gestured to where the Daenamu Kim stood, and for a few tense moments, Jungho and Somin watched each other, weighing the consequences of what the old man wanted. Eventually, Jungho and his family had no recourse but to step away, allowing Somin’s family to take their place. The strange boy stood awkwardly to the side, and that was when Youngsik noticed him.

“Ah, is this Im Nayeon’s boy?” the old man mused, taking in the boy’s appearance. The boy didn’t seem to be uncomfortable in the least, and there was definitely something about him that Namjoon couldn’t quite place. Something feral. Outwardly, he looked innocent still, a small child in unfamiliar territory, but his eyes held a glint of chaos, like a tiger cub hiding in seemingly untroubled grass.

“Yes, this is Kim Taehyung,” Somin confirmed. “He arrived just a few days ago.” Taehyung made a ninety-degree bow with his hands folded neatly on his navel. Namjoon’s grandfather gave him a courteous smile.

“Welcome to the Yeoldu, Taehyung,” he said. “How old are you?”

“Thank you, sir,” the boy replied. “I’m eight years old.”

“I’m sorry about your loss,” Youngsik’s gaze was sharp. Taehyung straightened and looked like he was about to say something when the old man spoke again. “Somin?”

Namjoon watched as Somin gave her birthday greetings and she and her husband made the ceremonial bow. Minho and Seokjin followed, indigo hanboks in a pretty array on the hardwood floor.

When they finished, his grandfather smiled and spoke, “Thank you, everyone. Now, let us eat and drink well, and may the Yeoldu forever prosper.” Namjoon stole one last look at his father, whose gaze was fixed ahead (whether it was on his grandfather or Somin, he couldn’t tell). What was clear to him, however, was that if they were ordinary people, Namjoon would’ve felt bad for the embarrassment that his father had just gone through but if he was being honest, there would always be a small twinge of satisfaction in Namjoon’s heart whenever he saw his father suffer. 

He let himself be carried by the movement of the crowd to the courtyard, where several tables were arranged, seating strategically placed to avoid bringing members of antagonistic clans together. There were the Mins of the San, for example, a military clan that also dealt in arms, with their ages-long conflict with the Kims of the So-namu, who ran protection rackets and a network of loansharks. There were also more recent disputes, such as the Hae and the Dol, taking turns in abducting each others’ members for some reason Namjoon wasn’t privy to . He narrowed his eyes at the new boy sitting beside Jin, and wondered who he really was.

“Somin, sit with us,” Namjoon heard his grandfather say. The table at the head of the gathering was set up for six, as one seat was always left empty for his uncle Junghoon, no matter where on earth he was. Other families would set up a separate table for the children, but since it was only Namjoon and his sister in their family, they were usually allowed to sit with their parents. The two of them exchanged looks as the color on their mother’s face seemed to drain away, concealed only by the heavy amount of makeup on her face. Again, Somin and Jungho looked at each other like one of them might catch on fire. 

“Are you sure, dumok-nim?” Somin spoke finally, her dulcet voice made even sweeter by her use of the honorific for clan leaders. “I don’t want to impose on oppa and his family.”

“Of course not, Sominie,” Namjoon’s mother interjected, earning her looks from the men and from the younger woman. Somin outranked Nayoung not only in pedigree but also in her objective status in the family, even if the latter was older than her by years. It also didn’t help that Somin was able to bear boys earlier than Nayoung, who struggled to even have children only for her eldest to be born with a speech impediment.

“I mean,” she cleared her throat, “of course you are welcome, you’re family. We’ll just set another table for the children.” She motioned to the staff and the said table was produced beside theirs, along with five more chairs. Namjoon and the rest of the kids awkwardly took their places, though they weren’t half as awkward as the adults.

\---

“So, who died?” Na-ra deadpanned to Taehyung beside her as the servants cleared empty plates and bowls from the table. The whole meal had been satisfactorily unpleasant, the copious amounts of delicious food served before them doing little to soften the tension in the air. It was a miracle that Na-ra had managed to wait until the end of the meal to even make a noise.

“Yah, Nara-ya, watch your mouth,” Seokjin snapped and Namjoon widened his eyes at his sister. Regardless of her age, that kind of impertinence still could get her in a lot of trouble if a grown-up heard. He looked toward Minho, who was the eldest and almost looked like an adult anyway, but he was busy pressing keys on what looked like a brand-new cellphone and didn’t even seem to hear what Na-ra said. That, or he couldn’t give two shits about Taehyung and his feelings.

“Sorry…” she muttered, but Taehyung looked like he didn’t care either. He popped a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes on Minho and not even sparing Na-ra a look, before Namjoon heard the first words he’d ever hear from Kim Taehyung.

“Your manners, I guess,” he swallowed, then reached for a glass of water and drank.

Namjoon had never seen his sister blush so furiously in his entire life. Na-ra’s cheeks turned beet red and she lowered her head to hide it. He looked around to check if any of the adults heard the exchange and was relieved to find that, as per usual, they weren’t really paying attention. 

He glanced at Seokjin from across the table, but the other boy was busy wiping his lips with a napkin. They were seated opposite each other on the end closest to the other table, near enough so they could hear the adults’ conversation. Minho was on Seokjin’s side of the table while Na-ra was between Namjoon and Taehyung.

“How did you find him?” Namjoon’s mother asked, as nonchalantly as she could, even if the truth was news of a Hae boy plucked out from some backroad farm in Daegu had been going around the Yeoldu grapevine for a few weeks prior. 

“A bounty hunter,” Somin replied, just as casually, like they had been talking about the weather or gas prices. “It wasn’t really difficult. I wonder why the Dol had such a hard time looking.” Like her son, she dabbed at the corner of her lips at non-existent stains

“Somin-ah, Seo Kyungmi is here,” Jungho cautioned in such a low voice that Namjoon almost didn’t hear. He locked eyes with Seokjin, who was obviously also listening. “It would be best to keep it down.” 

“I don’t understand why you invited her in the first place,” Somin rolled her eyes. "After what they did to us."

"Know your enemy..." Jungho’s voice trailed off, reciting a verse, and Somin let out a small scoff. 

"Is your dad quoting Rage Against the Machine," Seokjin said in passing as he set down his napkin. 

“W-what?” Namjoon furrowed his brow, entirely oblivious to what Rage Against the Machine was. "Th-that's S-Sun Tzu," he added, wholly unaware of the patronizing inflection his voice automatically took when he corrected people, which was most of the time. 

Minho let out a snort and proceeded to howl with laughter, finally getting off his phone. Considering her earlier humiliation, Na-ra started giggling, too, causing the grown-ups to all look at their table. 

“God, you’re dumb,” the eldest boy sneered, just loud enough for everyone at their table to hear, shaking his head in disbelief. Taehyung froze in mid-bite, and Seokjin's ears started to glow red in embarrassment. He got up from the table, muttered to be excused and left. 

Namjoon stood and followed his hyung, silently cursing at himself for being so careless and stupid. Seokjin's long legs carried him quickly into the now-empty parlor, where Namjoon tried to catch up with him. 

"Hyung!" he called, reaching out his hand and grabbing Seokjin's, which was tucked under a fold of his overcoat. In his flustered state, Namjoon didn't realize how forcefully he'd held onto Seokjin, and something came flying out from the older boy's hand, landing with an unpleasant noise on the hardwood floor where the both of them had been kneeling just moments ago.

The phone made contact with the floor and promptly separated from its casing and battery, which Namjoon picked up and saw had "Be the Reds!" emblazoned across the back. As far as he knew, Seokjin never really played or followed group sports, favoring individual events like snowboarding or fencing. 

"I'm...I'm sorry, hyung," Namjoon tried to start again. 

"For what?" the older spat out, rising from where he’d bent to retrieve the handset.

"F-for your ph-phone," Namjoon explained, handing him the battery and case that flew off. "And... F-for what I s-s-said. I was… I didn’t know you were s-serious.”

“No?” Seokjin’s brows were raised but his ears were still bright red. “Because I’m not as smart as you?” his tone cut like a knife, because Namjoon never really meant to offend him.

“N-no, no,” the younger boy tried his best to get the word out, but his nerves were getting in his way.

“Aish, just shut up. I can’t understand what the fuck you’re saying,” Seokjin snapped, and Namjoon felt a rage building up from the pit of his stomach.

“You d-don’t have to b-be an _asshole_ about it,” he breathed, feeling the heat rise up his collar. “Why c-can’t you j-just _fucking_ accept an ap-apology?”

Seokjin stood in shock at the nine-year-old cursing at him. Then, he said, “The Yeoldu never apologize, so you better not let anyone hear you.” He’d heard it before but even then, Namjoon thought the idea of never apologizing was bullshit.

Seokjin gave him one last steely look before turning and slamming the door behind him, leaving Namjoon standing there. He still felt terrible for embarrassing his hyung, but if Jin wanted to be a dick about it, he wasn’t going to stand around looking like a fool waiting for him to grow some sense. Maybe Kim Seokjin _was_ stupid, after all.

He went back to their table to hear that the conversation had somehow turned into a pissing contest between his parents and Seokjin’s. He had no idea how it started but somehow Somin was talking about her youngest son’s recent gold medal from the Winter X Games in Aspen and Jungho was going on about Namjoon’s MENSA application. He grimaced and shook his head but he didn’t have time to dwell on his embarrassment because it seemed like Minho and Taehyung seemed to be having their own fight.

“Give it back, you little bitch,” Minho ordered. Namjoon looked at Na-ra, but the expression on her face was more sullen and bored than alarmed. She shrugged when he caught her eyes as he sat back down.

“What?” Taehyung said in an even voice, looking directly at Minho, which only seemed to make the older boy fume more.

“My phone,” he said through gritted teeth. “Give it back.”

“I didn’t take your phone,” Taehyung answered flatly.

“I know you took it. You’re a little thief like your father,” Minho said again. In a flash, Taehyung’s expression hardened, but still he bit his tongue. “Give it back or I’ll make sure you’ll join your traitor parents in whatever hell they’re in.”

“I didn’t take your damn phone, _hyung,_ ” Taehyung all but spat each word out, emphasizing every honorific.

“Liar!” Minho hissed and slammed a palm on the table. The adults once again turned their attention to their children. “You’re a fucking liar. Give it back.”

“Minho-ya, Taehyung-ah,” Somin’s usually gentle voice had taken on an unmistakable edge. She gave each boy a look, which was enough for them to momentarily back down. 

“I think the children should go upstairs and play,” Youngsik mused. He didn’t seem angry or even annoyed, but Namjoon and the rest of them didn’t want to push it so they rose from their chairs, bowed to be excused and walked out.

“You better watch your back, bumpkin,” Minho hit Taehyung at the back of the head once they were out of earshot. The smaller boy only glared back as Minho walked away toward the parlor, exiting through the door where Seokjin had gone through earlier. Na-ra muttered something about someone needing a nap and stepped away, too, leaving just Namjoon and Taehyung.

“Um, I’m s--” Namjoon stopped himself from apologizing again. “I d-don’t think I introduced m-myself. My n-name’s Namjoon.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” suddenly Taehyung was smiling broadly again, as if none of the awkwardness and the scuffles had happened. “How old are you?”

“Nine. I w-was b-born in 1994,” he gestured to Taehyung’s head. “Are y-you alright?” 

“Yeah,” he smirked. “Thanks for asking, Namjoon-hyung. I’m glad not everyone here is a jerk.”

“Are th-they…  jerks to you?” Namjoon asked in earnest.

“They’re alright, I guess,” Taehyung shrugged. “Seokjin-hyung is nice. Where is he anyway?”

“I d-dunno,” Namjoon felt himself get self-conscious for some reason, remembering the earlier spat with Seokjin.

Taehyung hummed and glanced around the room. “So, what do we do now?”

“Um,” just then Namjoon realized how he hadn’t met anyone new or made new friends in a long while. “I g-got new tad-tadpoles today. D-do you want to see them?”

The other boy regarded him curiously, head tilted to one side before nodding. “Sure, ok.”

Namjoon led them out to the hall and up the main staircase, Taehyung sometimes stopping by some paintings to examine them more closely or ask questions. His eyes seemed to grow bigger as he studied the art that Namjoon’s grandfather had collected over the years, and his mouth went absolutely slack when they arrived at the Picasso hanging by the top of the stairs. It showed a boy holding a pipe in his left hand sitting in the center of the frame, dressed in blue and with a crown of flowers on his head. The rose background stood out against the wood-panelled wall of the landing. 

“Uh,” Namjoon cleared his throat. "If you like th-that, my g-grandfather has this g-gallery where he k-keeps all his nice--a-art." The _Boy with a Pipe_ was gifted to Namjoon's grandfather by some American ambassador in the 90s and somehow ended up out there in the hall instead of in the room. It was nice, there was no doubt about that, but no one in his family really paid attention to it on regular days. Taehyung's eyes were still wide as dinner plates when he turned to Namjoon and nodded without the slightest sound.

They went into the gallery, which was actually more of an anteroom to Youngsik's study that spanned the entire west side of the house's second floor. The theme of the art around the room was decidedly post-impressionist with a predominant leaning toward Van Gogh, complemented by a handful of Toulouse-Lautrecs and Picassos, as well as a few Lebasques. Taehyung only really recognized Van Gogh at that point, having seen his work in library books, but that didn't seem to be as important as the feelings he felt right then. They say you heard bells when you met your soulmate, and Taehyung figured that was the sound he was hearing now.

He snapped to attention when a voice piped up from behind one of the high-backed sofas.

"What are you twerps up to now?" Seokjin had been lying down, looking out the high windows, when the two younger boys went inside the painting room. He'd been trying to cool down from earlier and found the quiet of the gallery comforting. Until those two showed up.

"Ah, hyung, we were looking for you," Taehyung grinned cutely. "Namjoon-hyung wanted to show me his tadpoles but then I saw the paintings and wow, these are so pretty, hyung."

"Tadpoles?" Seokjin turned to Namjoon, who was starting to go red in the face again. The younger boy supposed he wasn't so angry at him anymore if he was addressing him again.

"Yeah," he nodded, trying his best to keep his expression neutral, as if whatever Seokjin said earlier didn’t hurt as much as it really did "I g-got th-them this morn-ning."

"I'm bored out of my mind," Seokjin let out a sigh and then pouted. Namjoon thought of how unfair it was that he still looked cute while doing so. "How can you survive without a TV or games in this place?”

"We're n-not all-lowed," Namjoon answered and Seokjin grimaced. "B-but we d-do have g-games…"

"Oh, do you know _seotda_?" Taehyung’s eyes seemed to shine, even in the bright afternoon light. 

"You play with hwatu cards, right?" Jin asked and the youngest nodded. "I remember it from Tazza… Do you have a deck, Joon-ah?"

"I think th-there's one in g-grandfather's stud-dy," Namjoon said after considering where he'd seen a deck of flower cards lying around. "It's j-just the n-next room."

Namjoon got up from where he was sitting on the sofa’s arm and went to the door. He was mildly surprised when he found it locked, since his grandfather usually left it open.

“It’s,” Namjoon didn’t know why he felt the need to state the obvious. “It’s locked.”

“Oh, wait a sec,” Seokjin sat upright. “I got a new lock pick I wanna try out.”

“Why would you have a lock pick?” Taehyung’s brow was furrowed, and the older boy shrugged. 

“It’s in my bag downstairs. I’ll go get it,” he got on his feet and was out of the door in a split second, leaving the two younger boys staring after him. Namjoon bit his lower lip and thought hard about what he was about to say, a burden laying heavy in his chest.

“T-Taehyung-ah,” he began, clearing his throat. His mouth was so dry. “T-there’s something you sh-should know.”

“What is it, hyung?” the younger boy’s face was pleasant, finally starting to become comfortable in this new environment.

“Um,” Namjoon searched for the right words. On normal days, he hardly cared for the affairs of others, but he felt especially bad for what Taehyung had supposedly gone through, not to mention worried about what Minho might end up doing to him. “S-Seokjin-hyung took Minho-hyung’s ph-phone. I s-saw it fall f-from his...from his pocket.”

Taehyung eyes were wide again, so different from the eyes that Namjoon had gotten used to seeing, which were usually full of pretense or secrets. He took a few moments to register what Namjoon said before replying.

“Hyung,” he said. “I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? 
> 
> Next update will be in about two weeks or so (maybe longer, my chromebook screen decided to die and work has been really really demanding, but I swear, it will be up asap!) and will see our boys casing their target and crossing paths with Park Jimin.
> 
> Until then!
> 
> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are what keep me going! It really really helps when I feel like crap, so if it's not too much to ask, I'd really love to know what you think so far.
> 
> Hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta).


	5. lift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're still looking for him?" she said after a long silence. Jeongyeon liked to hide behind a veneer of coolness, but Jimin knew that this question was often the sole reason she called. 
> 
> "Yes," the hope in Jimin's voice was always unmistakable. "And I'm going to find him, he's going to help me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Thank you very much for the nice comments on the previous chapter. We're back to the present time and moving forward with heist preparations. It's the first time we're going to see through Jimin's perspective AND I know that his characterization so far may feel stereotypic BUT I would like to ask you, dear reader, for only one thing: let the boy arc. I swear, I would never do any of our boys dirty. Just stay with me here, ok?
> 
> Visual thread [here](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1137558007531728897?s=19). Though the moodboard is going to be a bit late this time [Update! It's [here](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1160659238521196544?s=19) because I couldn't sleep], I'm happy to share that I've been thinking about doing a full trailer for this fic! It might not be as good as the other fic trailers, but it's good brain exercise anyway. Sometimes, it's hard for my brain to find words and form sentences and I need those breaks. I hope you like them, too.
> 
> Feel free to check out the [carrd](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal.carrd.co/)!
> 
> Thank you very much to Quinn for beta-ing this chapter and providing so much insight and encouragement. This chapter is dedicated to Am and Bee. 
> 
> As usual, please take note of tags and warnings. Enjoy!

His phone was ringing. 

Eyes still closed, Jimin's hands felt under the pillow, trying to find the source of the noise. He buried his face against the soft fabric, the scent of freshly washed linens filling his nostrils, until finally his fingers found cold metal against the sheets. 

“Hello?” he whispered into the receiver, even though he knew from the caller ID that it was Yoo Jeongyeon.

“Hello, Jimin,” she said. Her voice sounded so far away, but still he kept his voice down, not wanting to wake the other person on the bed. He shuffled to his feet and got up gingerly. Jimin's eyes adjusted to the low morning light as he stepped out into the hall, then to the living room. Hannam was still mostly asleep, and the city lights twinkled in the fog.

“Did I wake you?” she continued. He checked the time, it was almost six in the morning. This meant Jeongyeon was probably having her usual small breakfast on the rooftop of their lilac-colored house in Busan. Jimin saw her in his mind’s eye, cropped hair tucked behind one ear and sipping a cup of coffee. A splash of milk, no sugar.

“Yeah, but it’s ok,” he answered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She didn't call him often, just once every other week or so, and he always did his best to indulge her. It was a bummer that he forgot he was due for a call before spending the night. He crossed the carpeted living room floor until he got to the window, trying not to knock over a lamp or some other piece of priceless decor. The layout was still largely unfamiliar.

She hummed, in her faraway voice. He imagined her looking out to the sea, or reading the morning news. “How are you, Jimin?”

“I’m ok,” he said. He didn’t mean for his responses to be so curt, but he was hardly awake, so really, no one could blame him.

“And how’s school?” there was a lilt to her voice and Jimin could picture her smirking from across the distance.

“It’s fine,” he rolled his eyes. He himself looked out onto the city, the sun slowly piercing through the fog and rising over the tops of anonymous office buildings.

“You sound tired,” she said, oblivious to any irritation he may have let slip in his voice. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jimin repeated, this time not making an effort to hide his exasperation. 

"You're still looking for him?" she said after a long silence. Jeongyeon liked to hide behind a veneer of coolness, but Jimin knew that this question was often the sole reason she called. 

"Yes," the hope in Jimin's voice was always unmistakable. "And I'm going to find him, he's going to help me."

"Alright," another long pause. "Be careful, Jiminie."

"I will," he assured her. "You, too."

"I love you," this time she was the one who sighed.

"Love you," he said back. "I'll talk to you later." Jeongyeon hummed again and said goodbye before a beep signalled the end of their conversation. Jimin stared at his phone's cracked screen for a while, trying to sort out what he needed to do for the day.

"Who was that?" 

Jimin nearly jumped out of his skin as a deep voice echoed from the hallway. Either he'd been so lost in his thoughts or the owner of the voice moved so quietly that he never even sensed him approaching.

"Oh, Professor Seo," he stammered, hand to his chest. "I didn't hear you, sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Needed to get up anyway," Seo Daeho sauntered toward him by the window. He was only wearing loose pajama bottoms and no shirt, light and shadow dancing on the surface of his ab muscles. Jimin's heart hadn't yet stopped banging inside his chest. "Who was that?" Daeho repeated, and it was clear that it was the last time he was going to.

"Oh, it was my mom," Jimin snapped himself out of staring. "She wakes up so early, and then she calls me. And _then_ , she gets upset when I don’t answer."

"Ah, moms," he smiled, one corner of his pretty mouth perked up. Such a familiar smile. "You want some breakfast? I could cook."

"You cook?" Jimin's lips stretched into a grin of its own.

"With much trepidation," he smirked, and Jimin couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh-kay," he said. "Or I could cook, too."

"That might be a better idea," Daeho mused, grabbing Jimin by the waist and pulling him into a kiss. "Less risky." Jimin sighed and kissed him back before breaking off and heading toward the kitchen. 

"Oh, and Jimin," he called after him.

"Hmm?"

"I forgot to give you something last night."

"Oh?"

Jimin stood in the hallway as Daeho approached him, hand hidden in the pocket of his pants. He motioned for the younger man to turn around and he obliged, smiling sweetly as Daeho slipped something cold around his neck. He looked down to see that it was a single shadowed quartz on a rose gold chain and it sparkled in the dim light of the hallway. Jimin gasped as his fingers touched the stone, pressing it closer to his chest.

"When we're together, you can call me hyung," he gave Jimin another grin before placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

\---

It was midday when Jungkook arrived at the designated meeting place right in front of Seoul University’s main library. He checked his watch, noting that he was at least half an hour early. Which made sense, Yoongi's repeated warnings about being late practically seared into his brain. For a few minutes, he stood and fidgeted on the library steps, frowning at the students who looked at him for a beat too long. They were probably trying to remember where they knew him from, or they _did_ remember and were surprised to see him breathing on campus.

Seoul University boasted a century-long history as one of South Korea’s oldest universities, and it showed in the number of neo-colonial style buildings dominating the grounds, recently joined by more modern additions. The older buildings were named after statesmen or scholars, but the new ones were mostly called by the names of the corporations that bequeathed them. He didn’t know if he was imagining it, but now that Jungkook knew a bit about the Yeoldu, he couldn’t help but see odd family symbols everywhere: a cloud here, a turtle there, even a stray mushroom on the embrasures at the top of some dorms.

He waited a few seconds more before deciding that with all the stress and anxiety that came with joining an actual heist crew and basically being called a baby at every turn, he deserved something to take the edge off. Glancing one last time at the blinking colon on his digital watch, he walked down the steps and headed toward the back of the library building.

When he got to an adequately secluded spot, he reached into his back pocket and grabbed the pack of Marlboros stashed there along with a shiny black plastic lighter. He made quick work of placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it, sending swirls of smoke floating in front of his face. Jungkook inhaled deeply and felt the warmth spread across his chest. He leaned his head back on the library wall, trying to remain as hidden as possible.

 _What was up with Jimin and that Daeho guy?_ he wondered, the tiny twinge of jealousy in his heart not even subtle. When he looked Seo Daeho up, he really didn't get much. Whoever was doing his security was doing a pretty good job of cleaning up both his digital and physical footprints. All Jungkook found was that he was 33, had two PhDs and secured tenure virtually as soon as he decided to sign on with Seoul U only seven years ago. He found nothing about past relationships (or any relationship, for that matter), especially not about Jimin.

"What do you think you're doing?" a now familiar voice jolted Jungkook from his reverie. He almost thought he was imagining it at first. The boy quickly threw what was left of his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with his shoe. Min Yoongi stood a few meters in front of him and there was an annoyed look on his face. 

"Ah, hyung--" he started, but the older man cut him off with a click of his tongue. 

"Security cameras there," he cocked his head to one side and JK followed the direction with his eyes. "And there.” He shook his head. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart guy."

Jungkook's doe eyes got even doe-ier than usual and a furious blush colored his cheeks. He hadn't thought of checking. Then again, he didn't go out much so the thought of checking for security cameras wasn't really the first on his mind. Also, this was Day 1 of him being an offline criminal, wasn’t it? He lowered his head and muttered an apology, to which Yoongi responded with a small, but exasperated, exhale.

"Aren’t you, like, 17?” he asked, and JK fought the urge to roll his eyes right there and then. Sure, Jungkook could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he wasn't rude to his elders. Plus, he wasn't entirely sure this man was incapable of really physically harming him...or worse. He nodded, and Yoongi continued, “That'll kill you one day, you know," 

Yeah, he’d had enough lectures for the day.

"Or you could get someone else killed, which in my opinion is much worse," Yoongi added before Jungkook could make a comeback. He turned on his heel as the younger boy frowned and had no choice but to lumber behind him. When he finally caught up, Yoongi gave him a tired look and went on. "Have you ever read _The Sniper_ by this one Irish writer? Uh, O’Flaherty, I think his name was.”

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. The last thing he’d expected the older boy to be into was short stories from the 1920s Irish Civil War. He hadn’t really read the story Yoongi mentioned, but he remembered it being one of those random things he had to memorize for _Wise Child._

In the space of his silence, Yoongi began to explain. “So, there’s this Irish Republican sniper, right,” he said as they made their way to the library steps. “And it’s the Battle of Dublin, so people are going batshit. Guys who used to fight together during the War of Independence against Britain suddenly see themselves on opposite sides, shooting at each other.” Jungkook’s brow was still furrowed, but he followed along and Yoongi continued. “So, this sniper’s up on a roof and he hasn’t eaten or rested all day, and he’s tired, man. So tired. He eats a sandwich or something, then he takes a swig of whiskey, and for desert, he thinks about lighting up a smoke.” They were halfway up the steps. “But, you know, he thinks, ‘This is kind of risky, after all, we’re in the middle of a fucking firefight. Enemies are watching,’ and that kind of shit. And you know what he does?”

“He lights up?” JK rolled his eyes then and Yoongi’s tired look got even wearier. Who knew this hyung would be so talkative?

“He lights up,” the older man confirmed. “And in that split-second that he inhales and puts out the light, a bullet goes flying past his head. There’s a shootout, and regardless of how stupid he is, he’s able to take three people down, including the gunner on the opposite roof. He gets shot, too, of course, on the arm, but it’s fine. He’s still breathing.” They arrived at the head of the steps, just outside the entrance of the library, where Jungkook noticed Taehyung was already waiting. He wore a loose paisley shirt, black pants and a beret. Yoongi was still talking. “So he goes down, tries to escape, but before he does, he gets curious about the guy he just shot. He goes and turns the corpse over--”

“It’s his brother,” Taehyung interrupted as soon as he was near enough to hear what they were talking about. “That sniper story again, hyung? Aish. Ah,” he turned to the youngest, whose forehead was still knitted. “Did he catch you smoking?” A slow nod, to which Taehyung scoffed. “He caught me smoking once, so he told me this story. And every. single. time he’d see me with a cigarette, he’d repeat it. I must’ve heard it a thousand times before I decided I didn’t wanna hear it anymore. Haven’t touched a stick since.” 

“It’s-- It’s really none of your business,” Jungkook muttered, but the oldest man just gave him a shrug of his narrow shoulders.

“You’re in my team, so It is now,” he said matter-of-factly, then turned to Taehyung. “You have the IDs and the registration papers?”

“Oh, yeah,” the younger boy perked up, flashing both of them a boxy grin while producing the cards and papers from his leather handbag.

“Architecture?” Yoongi examined the piece of plastic in his hand.

“Yeah, I figured it would give you an excuse for stalking the hallways and getting lost in dark corners doing your Cat things.”

“Cat things?” Jungkook arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, please,” Yoongi shuddered and tried to brush the both of them off.

“It’s his nickname,” Tae gave Jungkook a conspiratorial wink. They walked through the RFID scanners without a hitch after running their fake IDs on the turnstiles. Taehyung beamed at his handiwork. “Best cat burglar south of the Han.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi hissed as they stepped into the massive main library hall. While decidedly old and grand on the outside, with its stone facade and Venetian windows, the building was completely modern on the inside. A row of computers were arranged on one side, while couches and tables were scattered and occupied by bleary-eyed students fueled by caffeine. Opposite the entrance were a couple of glass elevators going up and down the library’s seven floors. It was a moment before Jungkook realized that Taehyung and Yoongi had been staring at him.

“What?”

“Well, where to?” Taehyung’s smile seemed to be permanent, which was honestly getting to be a bit unnerving.

“I-- It’s my first time here,” Jungkook admitted. Yoongi let out a long sigh and shook his head before walking to the building directory. “What? Who still goes to the library? Everything’s online now anyway.”

“I dunno,” Taehyung shrugged, scanning the faces of students busy working on their laptops, buried in books or slumped on the tables napping. “It looks fun.”

“It’s antediluvian, is what it is,” Jungkook snorted, following Yoongi.

“God, it’s like having a mini Namjoon around,” the oldest boy said. Jungkook glanced at his face and was surprised to see fondness where he had expected mockery. Yoongi studied the directory and turned to them, which caused JK to cough furiously to hide his reddened cheeks. “Do either of you remember the venue for that exhibit?” The two boys blinked at him. The thief sucked a breath through his teeth and turned back to the directory. “Jungkook.”

“Huh?”

“Go over there and ask.”

“What?”

 _“_ Go over there and ask, _maknae.”_

“But,” the boy blinked. It was the first time he was addressed as the youngest, and it felt oddly endearing, making him blush a bit more. The last time someone called him maknae was a few years ago before he left home. He glanced over and saw that there were two student assistants at the Information Desk. One was a pleasant-looking girl who was busy assisting a couple of freshmen while the other staff was an exchange student with braids and round glasses. "But...I don't speak English."

"Well, neither do we," Taehyung put his hands inside his pockets and jerked his head to the direction of the desk. "Off you go."

Jungkook pouted as the two older boys left no room for argument. He started toward the counter, steps slow and measured, trying to remember the little English that he knew. It didn't help that most of it was learned in rowdy (not to mention profane) game servers. 

“H-hello,” he said under his breath. The staff member looked up at him inquiringly over the top of his spectacles. 

"Hello," the boy greeted him back, then grimaced. "You smell like cigarettes."

"Oh," Jungkook lowered his head. "Sorry, um--"

"It's a smoke-free campus," the staff continued, in perfect Korean. Despite his embarrassment, Jungkook heaved a sigh of relief. "There's a fine if you're caught."

"Yeah, um, sorry," he muttered. A few beats pass with the other person blinking at Jungkook until he remembered what he came for. "I'm-- I'm wondering if there’s a gallery here somewhere where you have exhibits? It’s for a-- A paper I’m writing. I need to go to an exhibit.”

“There aren’t any exhibits right now,” the staff informed him. “Have you tried the museum?”

“Uh, um, no,” Jungkook shifted his weight on one foot. “I need something that’s related to books?”

“Hmm,” the student paused for a bit. “Maybe you can ask special collections on the fifth floor? They host exhibits from time to time, but there aren’t any right now.” Jungkook mumbled his thanks and turned on his heel, only to find that the two older boys were gone.

“What the f--” he exhaled, eyes darting to all corners of the library. His feet carried him to the vending machines and the cubicles but all he found were piles of books and the same sleepy students. Jungkook walked briskly between the stacks and peered between shelves, trying to find his hyungs. He leant forward against the glass railing after going up and down the library’s floors, catching his breath and scanning the floor, and he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

“Jungkookie, where have you been?” Taehyung sipped banana milk through a straw, long lashes fluttering innocently as if he hadn’t disappeared for half an hour.

“Where have _you_ been?” JK asked back. “I’ve been looking all over for you and Yoongi-hyung. Where the heck is he?”

“Dunno,” Taehyung gave him a half-shrug then reached into his pocket, taking out another bottle of banana milk. "Want one?"

Jungkook gaped at him for a few seconds before he extended his hand to take it. "Sure, I want one," he said. 

"Anyway, gotta bounce," the older boy took a big sip before tossing the empty bottle in a bin. 

"What?" JK said for the nth time that day. He didn’t expect heists to be this confusing. "What about, you know, casing the joint?"

Taehyung let out a laugh at the way Jungkook whispered like they were in a spy movie, which earned him a sharp shush from the librarian and students nearest them. 

"Seven floors, two elevators, stairwells and fire exits on the north and south sides," he recited. "Late 1930s granite stone building in the neo-classical Palladian style favoring perfect symmetry, hence having an exactly equal number of windows and doors on each floor, twenty-four and twelve, respectively. Lounge and central control desk on the first floor, circulation and serials on the second to fourth floors, special collections and two galleries on the fifth and study rooms on the sixth and seventh. Library opens at seven everyday, closes at ten p.m. from Monday to Saturday and at five on Sundays. Most of the art are really good reproductions, I must say. Nothing worth swiping, though." 

Taehyung reached forward with his long graceful fingers and prodded the younger boy’s mouth shut. The smirk never left his lips. 

"How did you--" Jungkook asked, thoroughly impressed. “You got all that by wandering around?”

"Of course," Taehyung answered before brandishing a glossy piece of paper in the other boy’s face. "Well, also, I got a brochure."

"Wow."

"Work smarter, not harder," the older boy advised, shrugging. "Anyway, I'll be off now, Jungkookie! Tell Yoongi-hyung I'll call him when the model is ready."

"Where are you going?"

"Wanna go surprise Jin-hyung. Bye!”

Jungkook stared after Taehyung’s retreating figure, wondering what on earth _he_ was supposed to do as he stood alone on the library floor. Min Yoongi was still nowhere in sight. He plopped down on one of the couches and pierced the banana milk lid with the straw. JK couldn’t remember the last time he had the drink, and sipping on the creamy sweet liquid made him wonder why he ever stopped.

He sat in silence for a while longer, observing students milling around and beginning to get why people still went to libraries. It was quiet, nobody tried to strike up random conversations, and it smelled amazing. All the computers gave off the familiar fried ozone scent that Jungkook was used to, but this time it was mixed with a smoky, earthy, unmistakably old book smell and it was oddly comforting. Just as he was getting wrapped up in his senses, however, he felt a hand land on his shoulder again. 

“Taehyung-hyung?” he said before turning his head and seeing Park Jimin standing over his shoulder.

“Who?” Jimin had a small furrow in his brow that Jungkook couldn’t help but find cute.

"Uh, no one, hyung," JK lied, trying to compose himself by sitting upright on the chair. "Someone I play Overwatch with. He just left."

"Oh," Jimin said. "What are you doing here, Kookie?"

"What do you mean? I _go_ here."

Jimin let out a snort. "I have never seen you set foot in the library since the semester began."

"Maybe you don't go often enough."

"I come here every day after my morning classes,” Jimin widened his eyes dramatically. “I have never seen _you_."

"It's a big library," JK persisted.

"Yah, are you being a brat to me, Jeon Jungkook?"

"No, sir. Ow!" Jimin pinched him lightly on the side, and once again, the people around them gave them annoyed looks. He started to giggle when he heard someone behind Jimin clear their throat. Jungkook stretched his neck to see Yoongi, who finally materialized after vanishing into thin air earlier.

"Uh, hi, hyung," he said. It was too late when he realized that maybe it was better if he pretended not to know the older boy in public.

"Hey," Yoongi said back. Jimin gave him a puzzled look before a wave of recognition came over him and he bowed quickly. 

"Hello, hyung," he smiled, running fingers through his pink bangs to fix them after bowing. "You're the hyung from the cafe, right? You know each other?" Jimin pointed to Jungkook, whose jaw had gone slack.

"Uh, not really," Yoongi replied. "I go here. Um, Architecture." He shoved his ID card and papers toward Jimin, whose brow just creased at the strange gesture. In an instant, Yoongi’s eyes fixated on something around Jimin’s neck, and Jungkook saw that it was some sort of gray-ish stone on a gold chain.

"You're a weird hyung," he said finally, letting out a small chortle. 

“We bumped into each other,” Jungkook piped up. It was clear that Yoongi was going to be worse at this than he was. At least _he_ was used to seeing Jimin, with his pink hair and pretty lips and the way he was so effortlessly attractive it took your breath away. “I thought about what you said,” he got to his feet and Yoongi withdrew the papers. Thankfully, Jimin had his attention on Jungkook so he couldn’t see the blush rushing up the older boy’s cheeks. “And, I thought I should at least try going to campus once in a while. So, I came here and bumped into him. Sorry I took so long getting a drink, hyung.” Jungkook even bowed for full effect.

Jimin narrowed his eyes, maybe not quite believing JK’s story but at least happy about him making an effort. He relaxed after a moment and turned to Yoongi. 

“My name is Park Jimin,” he bowed politely. “I was born in 1995 and a freshman.”

“I’m Min Yoongi,” the other replied. “I’m a--"

“A junior,” JK said. “Hyung is in the third year.”

“Hmm, ok,” Jimin responded. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from his pocket. Jungkook watched as he took the phone out again and checked the message. 

“Oh,” his brows lifted. “Sorry, I have to go, Seo Daeho-nim wants to see me...about that thing for East Asian History. Anyway,” he nodded to Yoongi. “It was really nice meeting you, hyung. Hope I’ll see you around campus more, Kookie.” He flashed them a smile before turning and walking away. Yoongi gave Jungkook a curious look before going the way Jimin went, too.

“Hyung, what are you doing?” JK hissed after him.

“Following him.”

“Why?”

“I have a weird feeling,” Yoongi shrugged and the younger boy had no choice but to follow quietly behind him, too. They kept a good distance from Jimin as the pink-haired boy crossed the library floor, passing through students who whispered and stared after him. Jimin didn't even seem to notice. 

The two of them took cover behind one of the stone pillars at the top of the library steps and watched as Jimin walked down toward a white BMW M5 parked across the street. A man in a black military-style leather jacket and a purple silk shirt underneath emerged from the driver's seat and opened the passenger door for Jimin to get in. He had a rust-colored mullet and sullen eyes that looked up and almost spotted Yoongi and Jungkook if they hadn’t ducked.

"Who was that?" the older boy asked once they were out of sight. 

"I don't know," JK shrugged, brows creasing as Jimin smiled at the man and got inside the car. The rust-haired man looked around one last time before getting in, too, and driving away.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh?”

“Did he mean the same Seo Daeho that we’re stealing from?” Yoongi kept his eyes on the road as Jungkook hesitated. “Don’t even think of lying to me, I know when people are lying.”  He turned in time to see the younger boy give a small nod and Yoongi cursed under his breath. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew his little boyfriend?” he asked, but before JK could answer, he heard a familiar laugh echo in the crisp spring air.

Yoongi’s head whipped around and like a shot, his eyes met with Hoseok’s, who was coming up the stairs with a classmate he recognized as Yang Hongseok, the gearhead. Yoongi wasn’t aware he _also_ went to college.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Hoseok’s brow knitted but after a few moments, whatever confusion he had melted to give way to his usual bright smile. He went up to Yoongi and quickly pulled him in a hug. “What are you doing here? Who’s this?”

“Uh--” Yoongi prepared something to say for the situation, but Jungkook could see that he was still flustered. He couldn’t help but think maybe this was what he looked like when Jimin-hyung spoke to him. “I came to see you, Hobah. Looks like I was early.”

“Wah, that’s really sweet, hyung. I’m touched,” the other boy exclaimed. “Oh, by the way, you’ve met Hongseok?” The gearhead made his introductions, and no one noticed the slight twitch in Yoongi’s cheek at how even more handsome he was in broad daylight compared to the dark underlighting at the illegal tracks.

“And this is--”

“Hi, my name is Jeon Jungkook. I was at the cafe the other week,” he volunteered, bowing briskly. “I just bumped into hyung and thought he looked familiar so I said hello.”

“Hello, Jungkookie, are you a freshman? I haven’t seen you around,” JK nodded. “I’m Jung Hoseok and I’m a mechanical engineering sophomore.” There was really something about him that Jungkook found immediately familiar. He turned to Yoongi, “I have a two-hour shift today. Will you be ok to wait, hyung?”

“Sure, of course,” Yoongi offered him a small smile. “Oh,” he paused, suddenly remembering. “Am I allowed inside? I mean, I don’t go here, after all.”

“Of course,” Hoseok winked. “We’ll take the employee entrance at the back. I’ll see you later, Honk!” The other boy tipped his head and went in through the main door.

“Ah, it was nice to see you again, Jungkookie,” Yoongi made a show of formally saying goodbye before following Hoseok. He took his phone out and in a minute, Jungkook’s phone chimed with a new message. His heart sank as he read it.

_Find everything there is to know about Park Jimin._

\---

Seokjin stood in the middle of a fancy department store somewhere in Myeongdong, under the stark overhead lights that bounced off the lenses of the designer sunglasses laid out in front of him. Filtered muzak played in the background as he tried to focus his vision on a pair of tortoise-frame Clubmasters, willing his heart to stop pounding in his chest. 

Earlier that morning, he'd sat on the spartan leather sofa at his mother's office, watching her terrorize the staff about the proofing on this article or the color swatch on that cover. His hands were clasped together politely, as always, and he resisted the urge to fidget despite his nerves. 

To be perfectly honest, he didn’t know what he was so nervous about. His mother favored him, much to Minho’s annoyance, despite not having accomplished as much as his older brother. Maybe it was _because_ of that, he thought. She finished dressing somebody down on the phone about newspaper sales and turned to her youngest son with a familiar smile. 

"Yes, Seokjinnie, to what do I owe this honor?" Somin asked, manicured nails tapping gently as she set the phone down on its pedestal. Her features were still soft, her face still beautiful, but the years had undoubtedly made her tougher, much more sophisticated. She'd been CEO of Hangseong Publishing and dumok of the Kim Hae for about five years now, after all, and thus far no one had risen to challenge her. 

"Mother," he started, going over there words he'd been rehearsing in his mind the previous night, granting him almost no sleep. "It's about Namjoon."

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow, waiting for Seokjin to continue. 

"He was followed by someone from Daenamu last week," he explained, doing his best to appear neutral. "It was right after a job, too. Do you know anything about this?"

“Jinnie,” she kept her gaze on the phone and spoke deliberately. “Why would you think I knew anything about it?” Her eyes flicked up toward his face with a sharpness that he’d only seen a handful of times.

“Because you know everything,” Seokjin couldn’t suppress the smirk that came up on his lips. Somin smiled, too, before threading her fingers together and straightening her back.

“You overestimate me,” she said in an even voice. “And here I thought you were coming to check on your mother or tell me about school.” She sighed and Seokjin was sure that that was the end of it, some guilt-tripping and a bit of small talk without actually telling him anything, but she continued. “Jungho worries about his son, just like any parent, and he especially cares about knowing how Namjoon is doing.”

“Namjoon’s doing fine,” he answered, albeit through his teeth.

“Is he?” she sounded amused, more than anything. “Should he?” Seokjin’s breath hitched and he felt like a bucket of cold water had just been poured over his back. He swallowed thickly and tried to steady his hands. 

“Look at you,” she continued, shaking her head. “Losing your composure over a boy--” Somin let out a harsh breath, “-- _boys_ , when all you should be doing is focusing on yourself. You’re a senior now, Kim Seokjin, an adult. Don’t you think it’s about time you stop playing around with these children?” It wasn’t a question, because anyway if it was, Seokjin wouldn’t have known how to answer. 

“Please,” he said after a silence that seemed to drag on forever. “I just don’t want him to get hurt. If you can tell Jungho to leave him alone, I would be grateful.”

“I’m not telling that man anything,” Somin rolled her eyes. “And if that’s all you came to ask, Seokjin, you can go now.” He sat frozen for a few seconds before he pushed himself off the sofa and finally bowed to his mother. His chest hadn’t stopped pounding since.

He stared down at the sunglasses in front of him, his reflection monstrous on the shiny green crystal lens. None of the salespeople had paid him particular attention, probably because he was wearing expensive clothes and a Rolex watch on his wrist, to boot. A long, soft camel coat was draped over his shoulders, covering his arms, and he knew that taking the sunglasses off the display would be too easy. He looked around and tried to angle his body away from the security cameras, though somewhere deep inside him, there was a person who wished he’d get caught so that all this would be over with. He reached out with a slender hand and felt the cold plastic on his fingers. He took one last glance around the store before deftly sliding the merchandise into the hidden pocket of his coat. Maybe it was that person’s lucky day.

“Excuse me, sir,” he heard a voice behind him, and he didn’t have to turn around to know that it was a guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Whew. How are we doing? I appreciate comments and feedback always. Don't be shy to share this fic with your friends dfkahjldfhk. Who is Jimin looking for? Is Jeongyeon really his mom? Why did Yoongi think of presenting his papers like his license and registration?? Until when is Yoongi going to be able to lie to Hoseok? Who is the rust-haired man? Did Seokjin get caught?? Next chapter is another look into Kim Line's past plus heist prep progress, so see you in a couple of weeks.
> 
> Hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta).


	6. the boy at molaeseong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was awfully still, and he was very, very thirsty.
> 
> The boy's lashes fluttered open slowly, though he wasn't entirely sure that he was awake. Lately, it's been increasingly difficult to tell the difference between consciousness and sleep, what was real from what wasn't, and he was pretty sure he was on his way to losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! We're baaaaaack!! First of all, an explanation (?) of sorts for my absence. This chapter was very, very hard for me to write because of how heavy the themes were. It really took its sweet time on me, making me all kinds of sad and depressed, so please do tread carefully when you read it. Add to this some overwhelming stuff that happened IRL and I was a mess for a while. That said, I'm very proud of this chapter and hope you appreciate this instalment. Also, please know that you are never alone in whatever it is that you may be struggling with right now, and someone out there loves you.
> 
> Hehe, on to the fic! I feel like I should do a brief recap in case we've all forgotten what's happened (and who could blame us, really). In the past five chapters, we've gotten to know our little heist crew. Namjoon, the leader with his secret mob childhood growing up with his two boyfriends Seokjin (handsome mafia progeny with lightning-fast hands) and Taehyung (surprise family addition with a mysterious past), is trying to steal an ancient and rare book of maps from a university library with the help of Yoongi, master thief and boyfriend to Hoseok, mechanical engineer major by day and illegal street racer by night. Jeon Jungkook, teen prodigy and TV whiz kid, joins them as team hacker (if he can concentrate long enough from his crush on Park Jimin, who btw is involved with Prof. Seo Daeho, our MAIN VILLAIN *gasp* AND has a hidden agenda of his own *double gasp*). The last we and Yoongi and Jungkook saw him, he was being chauffeured off to Daeho by a rust-haired man in a white BMW. Oh, also Seokjin might’ve been caught shoplifting at a fancy department store after going to his publishing magnate mother’s office and getting dragged for having two bfs and not focusing enough on college. 
> 
> Whew.
> 
> This current chapter is sort of a short transition/back story adjacent to our main narrative? I promise that it will all make sense in the end, and everything has a purpose. Like I said, it took a lot out of me to write this, so MAJOR TW for torture, (child) abuse, self harm, bullying, mental illness, isolation, manipulation, mutilation, hunting metaphors, blood and gore, etc. 
> 
> Visual thread [here](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1137558007531728897?s=19). 
> 
> I also made a [teaser](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZv3oeOB_mk) because my writing brain wasn’t cooperating. Remember to watch in HD! 
> 
> I’m also going to make separate character trailers but so far I just have Namjoon’s, which you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84UJ5g55qIU).
> 
> Feel free to check out the [carrd](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal.carrd.co/)!
> 
> Thank you very much again to Quinn for beta-ing this chapter, keeping me sane and being a beautiful person in general.
> 
> Oh, ALSO. I Omelas-ed tf out of this chapter, just because I am deeply, deeply in love with the Bangtan Universe and its themes (if you haven't already noticed), so go ahead and make those connections, huhu.

Everything was awfully still, and he was very, very thirsty.

The boy's lashes fluttered open slowly, though he wasn't entirely sure that he was awake. Lately, it's been increasingly difficult to tell the difference between consciousness and sleep, what was real from what wasn't, and he was pretty sure he was on his way to losing his mind. 

Still, he opened his eyes as wide as he could and tried to make sense of what was around him, though nothing really changed since the last time he was aware, nor since the day he was put into this tiny cell. There were four walls and a ceiling, bare, not even a switch or a light socket to break the smooth expanse of darkness. He remembered that the walls were painted white but marked with countless black and brown stains. To be completely honest, he’d started to doubt his memory since he hadn't really seen much in the split second that they pushed him in. There was a door, of course, but not even a sliver of light pierced through, meaning that either there were no cracks around it or that the preceding room was dark, too. There were no windows. No furniture save for a thin mattress that smelled like shit and dried blood and tears. It smelled like death.

The room was silent as a tomb, just as it always had been, but if he strained his ears he thought he could hear the menacing drip drip drip of liquid somewhere far away. To pass the time, he'd tap his finger to a syncopated beat and tried to make up melodies only he would probably hear. Then, the sound would fade away, sometimes slowly but most of the time all of a sudden, and the boy began to wonder if the sound had been real to begin with. 

It was a small comfort, this pathetic routine. 

The truth was he’d lost track of how long he'd been inside the dark room.  At first, he tried to count the hours, tried to remember how much time passed with the help of his excruciating devotion to routine. He kept track of the meals that came, rice and kimchi and sometimes an egg when he'd stopped screaming and begging for them to let him out, and tried to match it with times of the day. This worked for a bit until, having had a particularly bad time, the nail biting he’d usually done when he was nervous progressed into gnawing at his wrists, and they had stopped sending him food and water. Like now. His throat was parched and his vision swimming, and he wondered if he truly did not want to die or if he just didn’t want to die at _their_ hands.

He’d tried to think, to exercise, to keep to the schedule he'd been following ever since he was six years old. In his mind, he turned over formulas and equations, conjuring up problems and solving them without pen or paper. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to recall his earliest memory, just so his brain had something to do. 

The boy stood in the middle of an empty apartment, the smell of mold and mothballs clawing their way up his nostrils. He was ten and they had just transferred to Sejong, after they had to leave the last town because he'd sent another kid to the hospital after a beating. He remembered the sadness in his mother's eyes, even more abundant than usual, when she told him they needed to move again. She sighed and didn't him ask for details, just accepted his expulsion like she did with most tragedies in life, so he couldn't tell her how much the other boy had taunted him and stripped him behind the school and had his friends hold him down while he slapped and kicked and beat him and called him a bastard and the son of a whore. When she asked why he wore long-sleeved shirts even in the summer, he couldn't tell her it was to hide the bruises so he lied and he said he didn't want to get burned by the sun. He couldn't tell her about the names he was called and the wounds he had to take care of himself because he couldn't go to the school clinic or else they'd have told her what he could never let that happen because he didn't want to be a burden. He couldn't tell her how one day when the sun shone high and bright in the sky and the other boy and his friends walked toward him, he snapped and his vision blurred and by the time he became conscious, he was sitting on the other boy's chest and his face was unrecognizable because of all the blood and it looked like he’d stopped breathing. He couldn't tell her how good it felt.

So, he stood in the middle of the empty apartment, eyes staring blankly as his mother told the moving people where to place the few boxes of their belongings. In a moment of perception, he saw how one of them looked at her, a certain lechery in his eyes so that suddenly the boy’s feet were moving, walking down the steps and out onto the street where the moving van was parked. It was an old vehicle, older than him probably, and the driver was asleep at the wheel. He was most likely used to the way his companions would move slowly and take their time when the client was a pretty woman with a child but no husband. 

The boy stood in front of the vehicle, not a shred of concern that he'd be seen since the world and most grown-ups already treated him as invisible anyway. Still, by force of habit, he checked both ends of their street, each building a dull facsimile of the other, faceless and soundless against the gray sky. In one swift movement, he slid under the van, disappearing from view. In another moment, he was out, dusting the dirt off his knees and pocketing the old switchblade that was his only inheritance from his rat of a father. His hand lingered on the knife, fingers running over the ornate grooves of bamboo etched on the handle. 

He walked back inside the house and saw an exceptionally ugly man speaking to his mother, who seemed to be busying herself with a box of kitchen utensils. The boy glared when the man cast him a mean smile that reminded him of the villains he'd read about in comic books. As he stood there, he remembered vividly how the man was missing a few of his teeth, and the way he touched his mother’s arm, feigning concern and trying to help her. The boy cursed his own ability to recall moments as if they were happening right in front of his eyes and his lips moved in silent prayer as his mind blanked and he slipped out of consciousness once again. 

When he came to, he was in the same apartment, except it was already furnished and they'd been living in it for a few years. He'd just gotten back from school, eight hours of keeping to himself and calibrating his performance so he wouldn't get into trouble, both with the teachers and the other students. His homeroom teachers, failing to challenge him and scrambling to adjust lesson plans so that he wouldn’t spend class hours staring at them after finishing all the assigned tasks and seatwork, had asked his mother to move him up grades a few times, but she always refused. He didn’t really know why. 

“It’s better if you don’t call attention to yourself,” she said. “It’s safer this way. Please listen to me."

He called for her as he opened the door, his voice sounding hollow as it bounced off the walls. Except, the apartment wasn’t empty. All the windows were closed but the doors were all open save for the kitchen and his mother’s bedroom, which were nearest to each other. The boy called out again, crossing the threshold slowly, uncertain if he really wanted to know if there was something wrong because it surely felt like that was the case. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, heavily, and he watched as a hand he recognized as his own stretched out in front of him to open the door to his mother’s bedroom. 

Her body lay on the cream-colored carpet, motionless and without a sound, bare feet peeking out from the foot of the bed. The boy felt himself move as if pushed across the room, ending up beside her and reaching out to touch her face. For a split-second, she was foreign to him, like she wasn’t his mother but a doll thrown haphazardly on the floor. A blanket of cold washed over him as his eyes scanned the scene and found no blood, no tell-tale signs of anyone else being inside the house. He rushed out to the kitchen and took the phone off its hook, hurriedly jabbing at the buttons to dial the emergency hotline number. A crackling noise reached the ear not pressed against the receiver, and that’s when he noticed that the tiny orange light on their stove was on, and on top of it was a pan filled with charcoal briquettes.

Someone picked up on the opposite end of the line just as he blacked out again. 

He remembers waking up at the hospital. He remembers Mina-san sitting beside his bed and telling him his mother was sick and had to stay there for a while, and that, with her consent, he’d be coming with her to stay at a place she called _Molaeseong._ Sand Castle. He imagined a place by the sea with lots of sun and the smell of saltwater in the air. He looked at her and wondered if it was a good idea to trust this stranger, but it was the way she looked at him, with an understanding that he still could not put into words up to this day, that made him say yes. 

And so, after a brief goodbye to his mother, who lay still and unconscious on her hospital bed like the day he had found her, he packed a bag and went with Mina-san to this place, where she said he’d learn to be the best he could be, where he wouldn’t have to calibrate anything, and where he would meet kids just like him and he could have friends. He asked if she was a teacher and he remembered the small smirk on her otherwise impassive face as she shook her head and told him no, she wasn’t...but sort of. Maybe. 

There was sea but no beach. Molaeseong turned out to be a giant sand castle structure in the middle of closed-down theme park in South Gyeongsang Province, on a shipbuilding island town less than an hour from Busan. The park was small and compact, with rides built on top of each other to maximize space. Among its rusted and run-down remains were a Viking ride, a roller-coaster and a merry-go-round with menacing-looking horses. The boy found out later that the park had ceased operations in the late 90s due to a couple of accidents courtesy of its main attraction: a frog ride slash death trap that had a propensity to get derailed, crashing into the water of the lazy river ride beside it. At the far edge of the park was an unassuming building done in gray concrete, where the young boy met the other children.

The boy closed his eyes and tried to imagine better days playing under the sun with them, instead of curled up in the darkness of the box. He thought of his noona, long, wavy black hair sticking to the sweat of her back as she ran and laughed and did cartwheels on the grass, the crush of flowers underfoot sending the heady scent of summer blooming in the air. Instead of the waste and misery around him, he breathed in and tried to remember the smell of her sun-soaked skin as she held their hands, one boy on either side, and they pledged to love and cherish each other until death did they part to whatever god still heard the prayers of orphans.

"Do you regret it?" she asked, appearing in one dark corner of the room. His eyes opened wider and he tried to remind himself that it wasn’t real. That she was probably miles away from this place by now, safe with the other children that he’d helped escape one moonless night when one of them may or may not have drugged the other adults and they were fast asleep. Except, of course, someone had managed to gain consciousness in time to catch him and push him inside this hole. Like the day of their pretend midsummer wedding, his noona wore a white dress with ruffles on the shoulders, her hair in plaits running down her skinny arms. On her feet were bright red shoes caked with mud, her knees covered in scrapes and bruises. The boy frowned at the sight of them. 

"No, noona," he shook his head fervently, a knot forming on his arid throat. He hugged his knees closer to him, hiding his arms so she wouldn't see the wounds he made there. He’d been doing his best to endure and be strong, but the sight of her, even though imaginary, made him incredibly weak. He would have given anything to just rest against her, like they always did after a long day of training and exercises. "No, noona," he repeated, stifling the whimper rising up his throat. "If it wasn't me, it would have been Hyojong."

"It should've been me," Hyojong spoke up on the other side of the room. His eyes, which the boy always remembered as being so bright that they looked like they were shining when he giggled, were now dark and sad, deep grooves marking his brow. There were daisies and sprays of baby's breath in Hyojong's hair, and the boy struggled to remember if it was he or their noona that put them there. "Hyung, why are you hurting yourself?" he asked.

He pulled his arms closer and shook his head even more vigorously than before. Tears would have rolled down his cheeks if he wasn’t so dehydrated. Hyuna-noona was the first child in this place, then Hyojong, then him, then the others. They were the eldest, and they were supposed to protect them. That's what Mina-san always said.

“You need to protect them,” she told him, disassembling the bolt-action sniper rifle as she’d just used to shoot down a wild boar as he knelt down and finished dressing the animal, entrails scattered on the undergrowth. He wasn’t supposed to learn about shooting yet, but she’d taken a liking to him. The boy had always wondered why they had so little food and thus had to hunt when they had money for bullets, but either way he was good at cleaning the animals they caught, and he liked it when Mina brought him along, so he didn't complain. “Which sometimes means letting one of them go, to keep the rest of them safe."

"No no no," he shook his head again, running his fingers through his scalp. The line between memory and delusion was more blurred than ever, and his throat felt dry as his vision started to spin. "I can’t, not you. Not him. No no no…”

“But if Duckyoung-ssi doesn’t get one of us,” Hyojong said, sitting on the bed in their room upstairs, playing with the thin bands of silver and gold on his arms. He’d made them in between knife-fighting and ballistics classes and were likely the reason that he was failing stupendously in both. The boy sighed, always knowing that the other boy was not a fighter. He cried for hours and refused to eat meat the one time he went hunting with the boy and had to field dress a deer for dinner. “He’ll get all of us. He'll never stop and...I’m probably the worst at this stuff out of everyone. Even the triplets are better than me.”

“Shut up,” the boy hissed, not realizing that he was actually shouting. He was confused at where he was and what was in front of him. The scent of excrement and desperation were still very real, as well as his desperate thirst, but he couldn’t keep track of anything else. Seo Duckyoung...Seo Duckyoung was a sadistic asshole who visited the park every now and then, who required that one boy be kept in this hole and one girl to go with him to his big house by the sea, for reasons nobody knew or understood. All the children knew was that he was part of the rich family that kept Molaeseong up, providing funds and a roof over these children’s heads to teach and train them to obey and maim and kill. To be fair, they suffered no abuse under Mina-san, who was strict yet unsparing with praise and rewards when you did well in the field. Except, well, except if you were chosen.

“Lee Hwitaek, get a hold of yourself,” Mina snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he wasn’t sure if she was real or a figment of his imagination. Hyuna and Hyojong were still staring at him from their respective corners of the room. They didn’t seem to see her, and the boy couldn’t tell which one of them were real. 

He blinked a few times as the rectangular frame of light in front of him became familiar again, and he realized that the door to the dark room was open. Mina, her long soft hair pulled up away from her face, crouched beside him, peering into his face. She smelled like blood. _Whose blood?_ Behind her was the hazy outline of a man, and a shiver ran through the boy at the thought that it was probably Duckyoung coming to get him.

“No,” he said, gulping down his fear against the dryness of his throat, voice cracking despite a valiant attempt to sound brave. “I t-told you. You c-can k-kill me but...b-but I won’t t-tell y-you w-where they are and I w-won’t g-go to Seo Duckyoung. Y-you can kill me, you c-can st-starve me but you won’t get them! You won’t!”

“Hwitaek,” the man said, his voice was unfamiliar. The boy squinted and did his best to focus his vision, and that’s when he saw the third person that went into his cell. Well, what was left of a person, anyway. Mina held another man by a noose around his neck, head covered with a dirty sack that smelled as bad as Hwitaek’s mattress on the dirt floor. He remembered the deer and boar that she would shoot in the woods for him to clean and dress before they’d bring them to Molaeseong for the other children to eat. “My name is Seo Daeho, and I’m not going to hurt you. “I’m here to let you go. I don’t care where the other children are.” He tilted his head toward their hostage. “I bring a gift.”

Mina pushed the man to his knees in front of Hwitaek, which didn’t take a lot of force seeing as the man was almost dead anyway. He groaned and cried out as she pressed the nuzzle of a gun to the back of his head. Despite his weakness, Hwitaek felt his throat catch, a euphoric feeling building in his chest at the sight of Myoui Mina in all her lethal glory, expression neutral as he held the fragile balance of a man’s life in her delicate hands. The other man, the stranger, stepped forward and took the sack off the captive man’s head in an almost gentle manner, careful to reveal who the pitiful being was in front of them.

It was Seo Duckyoung. Hwitaek’s eyes grew round and as big as they could, and he looked to Mina for an explanation. One corner of her lips lifted into a soft smirk, and the boy could see that her face was stained with splatters of dried blood. Wordlessly, the man placed two knives on the ground in front of Hwitaek, not unlike the ones he would use in the field. One was a skinning knife with a large handle while the other was smaller, more familiar. It was his father’s switchblade, silver handle engraved with images of elegant bamboo, just the right size for carving around bone. As he drew close, the boy managed to see the man’s face, which was handsome and kind and...young. 

“You can accept the gift,” he smiled softly, taking a white handkerchief and wiping dirt and sweat off the corner of Hwitaek’s brow. “Or, you can go. It’s up to you.”

“I have nowhere to go. Take me with you,” Hwitaek said, throat even drier now and heart pounding in his ears. He considered returning to his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in three years, only to find his feelings toward her indifferent at best and bitter at worst. 

Duckyoung was panting on his knees a few steps from him, head bowed and so unlike the man who used to make them stand in a line so he can pick the weakest among them, one boy and one girl, and subject them to unspeakable horrors in this dark box and elsewhere. Hwitaek remembered his noona and the other girls being told to strip under the setting sun for him to inspect like common market meat.

Daeho regarded him curiously for a few moments. He nodded slowly, eyes resting on the knives between them. “Then you must be loyal to me, Hwitaek.” 

“B-but,” the boy’s eyes shifted quickly from him to the knife and then to Duckyoung’s miserable figure, “h-he’s still alive--”

“And so are you,” Daeho answered. “But you almost weren’t, just like the others. You must be loyal to me if you want to come with me.”

Hwitaek looked around him before slowly extending his hand and taking the knives from the ground. The weights of each were familiar against his palms, which were small and bony but strong and nimble. _Pianist's hands_ , Hyojong used to say. He glanced toward the vision of the boy, still sitting in one corner, playing with the bands of silver and gold on his skinny arms. Hwitaek didn’t know where the real Hyojong was, but what he did know was that if he didn’t take care of Duckyoung now, he and the others would probably never be really safe. 

He lifted himself to his hands and knees and crawled toward Duckyoung, who was still held firmly in place by Mina behind him. He looked up at her, blades positioned, and she dragged Duckyoung’s head down so he was spread on the dirt floor. She crouched down and pinned his shoulders with her knees; his bloodied, beaten head on her lap. Her face remained expressionless as she gazed into the panic in his eyes. 

Hwitaek crawled between the man’s legs and used one knife to tear his clothes open until he was fully naked, bruises and cuts adorning his sallow and wrinkled skin. He turned to Hyuna’s corner in the dark room, and he saw how her eyes glowed like they were on fire, following the movement of the blades in his hands.

He was a creature of habit and routine, and when dressing a buck, he always began by removing the genitals. Those were probably the least useful parts when one was already dead. Well, most parts were useless when you died anyway, unless you were giving them to someone else who could make use of them, which was how Hwitaek liked to think when he was doing this to animals. Duckyoung’s penis was _definitely_ useless now. 

He plunged the blade into the top part of the man’s groin, causing him to writhe and scream in pain. The boy considered sitting on the man's legs to keep him from squirming, but that would make it doubly difficult to do his job. 

"S-stop moving," he muttered under his breath, but Seo Duckyoung kept thrashing around, his body taking on a renewed strength. “STOP MOVING!” Hwitaek shouted despite knowing that Duckyoung was probably incapable of hearing him, that his movements were propelled solely by the primal instinct to survive. With a swift twist of his small body, Hwitaek drove the switchblade into the side of the man’s neck, just under the jaw. Thick, red blood gushed from where the blade pierced through skin and muscle, coating Hwitaek’s hand in warm liquid. He shoved the knife deeper into Duckyoung’s neck until he hit bone and dragged it across to the other ear, streams of blood shining almost black in the dark cell. The body continued to twitch and spasm, the sound of liquids gurgling from inside it filling the fetid air around them. Hwitaek sat and waited for it all to stop before withdrawing the switchblade and wiping it against his dirty clothes.

When he finished, covered in Duckyoung’s blood and entrails and whatever was left of him, Daeho drew close and extended his arm. The boy thought he was going to hit him, but instead he saw a bottle of water, lid already off, being offered to him. In an instant, everything he felt, all the hate and pain, didn’t matter and he let Daeho guide the bottle to his lips. He drank greedily, taking big gulps against the sobs that he didn’t realize were bubbling up his own throat. Daeho wiped the blood and tears from his face, and when Hwitaek opened his eyes he saw that the older man was now holding something else in his hand, a photograph of another boy about the same age as he was. 

“His name is Kim Namjoon,” Daeho explained as the boy took the picture with a shaking hand. “And he is the reason for all of your suffering.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHHHHHHHH!! How are we? We good?? I'm so sorry Hui stans, but I promise it will work out in the end, I will never undersell our boy. Same to my beautiful Trinities, Wildflowers and Universe.
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta_au) or [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta).
> 
> Oof, thank you again for spending time on my little fic. Please leave me comments or feedback, even if you hate me, because as a Scorpio that motivates tf out of me. We’ll see each other again sooner, I hope.


	7. the young masters kim, entangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fucking shut the fuck up, Namjoon," the other boy cut him off. Suddenly, he was much larger than Namjoon, despite his smaller stature. "I don't even understand why the hell we're doing this job anyway, it's a fucking library book!"
> 
> "It's not just a library book."
> 
> "Yeah? Then what is it, Kim Namjoon?"
> 
> "It's better that you don't know."
> 
> "Fuck you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, we are back! I can’t believe it’s been literal months. If you’re still reading this, thank you. I appreciate the time you take to do so. I’ll have the next chapter up by next week!
> 
> Quick recap, our crew is trying to steal this ancient Korean atlas from a chaebol mafia professor type of villain who also happens to be Jimin’s bf *shocked gasp* but you know, everyone has secrets so IDK, I suck at these but thank you for reading anyways TT_TT
> 
> Thank you to Niq who beta’ed this chapter even if she was hopped up on painkillers and sleepy af, just because 2/3 of this is in Jin’s perspective (and because she loves me uwu *cough cough*). I’m dedicating this to Quinn, who always does his best, and is always there for me. ILY both, thank you. 
> 
> [carrd](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal.carrd.co) | [Trailer](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1163112995041398784) | [ Visual Thread](https://youtu.be/NZv3oeOB_mk>HD</a>%20%7C%20<a%20href=%E2%80%9Chttps://twitter.com/zaemitgettau/status/1201667982839050240)
> 
> So, who’s ready for more complicated plot and lots of Namgi fighting and Kim Line flirting? LET’S GO LET’S DO IT TO IT

Kim Namjoon stared at the empty wall across him as he sat behind the counter at the Calico Moon. He couldn’t exactly remember how long he'd been at it but judging by the lukewarm cup of once-hot chocolate in front of him and the bowl of stale potato chips beside it, he guessed it had been for a while. 

He glanced at the clock and groaned when he saw that it was already half-past nine. Where exactly did time go? When it passed, did it simply disappear into the cosmos? Or did it go somewhere else? Like a time heaven, where time well-spent and time wasted co-existed in peaceful harmony. He shook his head and imagined Yoongi furrowing his brow at him, confused and amused at the same time. He’d gone to the Seoul University library with Taehyung and Jungkook that day, so Namjoon had to stay and mind the café. If he was being honest, though, Calico Moon saw so little business that he wondered why they kept it open at all. 

Take that day, for instance. Only two people came in. There was a guy about his age who wore flashy clothes and spoke loudly on his expensive mobile phone, all the while taking two hours to finish a tall drink and several requests for tap water. The other person was a young girl with mousy brown hair and multiple piercings (along with a really cool one of her left eyebrow) who spent the same amount of time hunched over a sketchpad, nibbling on a pencil's end until it was unrecognizable. She had some pasta, at least. Didn’t even mind that there was no meat.

Namjoon shook his head at how much it cost just to exist. More than a week had passed since their first meeting in the basement, and Jungkook's bank funds were coming in slow so as not to arouse suspicion. The money from the Seo Taiji tapes was running out fast, too. He could spend all day thinking about how funny it was the way people thought running a heist crew involved so much glamour and rolling around in other people's money when in reality it took a hell of a lot more budgeting than he'd ever anticipated.

He heaved a sigh and hopped off the stool, putting away the sad leftovers of his dinner, if it could be called that. Lately, Yoongi’d been coming home much later than usual and Namjoon had to fend for himself food-wise which, really, wasn't always the best idea. Going hungry wasn’t the main problem, though. He’d gotten used to that when they lived on the streets, or to be more specific, street adjacent. The niggling feeling that he was being ignored was way worse.

Namjoon made his way to the front door and scanned the street before flipping the “come in, we’re open” sign over to "closed." 

Seongsu was quiet and empty, virtually deserted as most of the shops closed hours before the nightlife of Seoul even kicked into gear. The moon rose full and red against the starless sky, making Namjoon remember the last night he spent in Ilsan. Now that he thought about it, though, he wasn’t exactly sure if the moon was really red that night or if his anger had just been so great that he only saw it that way

Namjoon let out an even exhale and rubbed his eyes, trying to get his head straight. He had plans to make and details to iron out, there was no time to waste thinking about red moons and warm blood and stupid bamboo bracelets. As if by instinct, he massaged his left wrist where the gold bracelet had been until he was 15. They would take the Tongguk Chido from that bastard Daeho and they would do it so quickly and easily, Daeho’s head would spin. They could do it, his hyung and he.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of one of their oldest monstera plants, sitting like it always had at the far end of the cafe. It was one of their largest plants, a monster true to its name. He remembered the collector that gave it to them as a token of gratitude for retrieving a rare herbarium specimen from the Seoul Museum of Natural History. Up top, it looked fine, wide and perforated leaves splayed out under the warm overhead lights. Underneath, Namjoon noticed that its leaves were yellowing, and the rot got worse the lower you checked.

He walked closer to the plant, peering at the foliage. 

“I’m so sorry, Monnie,” Namjoon frowned at the affected leaves. “We’ve been so busy, I can't even remember the last time I fed you.” He took a mug from the counter and slowly poured what water was inside it into the pot. 

“Are you talking to the plants again?” Yoongi's voice echoed against the concrete walls. Namjoon almost jumped, engrossed in watching the water seep into the soil. 

"Fuck, hyung, don't sneak up on me like that," he shook his head and tried to catch his breath. It wasn't a joke when they said the older boy, standing pale and in all-black near the doorway, was as good as invisible when he wanted to be. 

"I wasn't even trying that time," Yoongi smirked.

"Haha," Namjoon rolled his eyes. Yoongi kept looking at him, gaze stony and unrelenting. Somehow, the younger boy felt an impulse to keep talking, even if he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea. "It's scientifically proven that plants grow better when you talk to them," he explained, trying to avoid his hyung's line of sight. Maybe if he talked long enough, everything would go back to normal. "A-also,” he faltered, “f-flowers bloom best when you talk to them, you know."

"Monsteras don't bear flowers," Yoongi said flatly, unamused. He dropped his gaze and seemed to be busy examining the toe of his boot.

"Well, no," Namjoon frowned. "But still, the talking to plants thing is true. The NIAB made a study about it and everything."

"The what?" 

"The National Institute of Agricultural Biotechnology," the younger boy muttered. He placed the mug, which he almost dropped because of Yoongi, on top of a table. Somehow this plan wasn't going the way he thought it would. "They say it's a genetic thing. Or was it a carbon dioxide thing? I dunno, can't remember. Anyway, it helps the plants grow."

"Did you learn all this while you were at University?" Yoongi raised an eyebrow. There was no humor in his voice, not even the dry kind that he'd use for assholes.

Namjoon stiffened where he stood. It was as if a giant lump formed in his throat and it kept him from uttering a word. Regardless of how tough he tried to come off, he was always afraid of losing his nerve in front of Yoongi. His hyung never really asked about the past, but tonight he kept his eyes on Namjoon for what seemed like forever. Waiting. 

"Ah, hyung—" Namjoon's voice trailed off. 

The older boy looked at him for another moment before letting out a sigh and walking behind the counter. He took a teapot out. It was one of those things that Taehyung had made and gifted them, made of ceramic and misshapen for the most part. Brilliant green dragonflies were painted on the warm red and orange surface, making it look like the little things were flying against a brilliant sunset sky.

"Met Daeho's boyfriend today," Yoongi mused as he filled the teapot with hot water. Namjoon's brow knitted as his hyung continued. "His name's Park Jimin and he's Jungkook's friend." The way Yoongi looked at him, like this was supposed to be some crucial information that he should care about, irritated Namjoon despite the guilt eating away at his chest.

“Why're you telling me this?" his tongue stuck to the side of his cheek as he tried to temper the edge in his voice. The older boy let out a small scoff and took a teabag out of its box. 

"I don't know," Yoongi shrugged, breaking eye contact. While Yoongi wasn't a cruel person, he also took no bullshit. He plopped the bag inside the pot and gazed intently as color bled out into the hot water. "I tell you everything, I guess.” He shrugged. “At least one of us should."

It felt like icicles were stabbing Namjoon's gut, slow but unmistakable. For a moment, he was afraid that he was going to throw up right there in the middle of Calico Moon.

"There are some things you just don't need to know," he finally said after what seemed like ages. His throat felt tight and his chest was pounding so hard he was sure the other boy could hear it echo in the empty café.

"Oh?" Yoongi raised his eyebrows. He scoffed and then slammed the lid onto the teapot. For some reason, Namjoon’s concern was whether it broke. Yoongi never yelled. He didn't have to. The disappointment and betrayal in his voice were enough. Sometimes, Namjoon wished he’d just go ahead and scream at him, hit him, did whatever he liked. That would be easier to take. "Like getting a kid involved in this shit? Things like that?" 

"Hyung, you're still on that?" Namjoon's tone was incredulous, and if he wasn't so annoyed with how stupid Yoongi was being, he'd be afraid of the consequences. 

"Yeah, you bet your ass I'm still on that," Yoongi shot back, his own anger bubbling on the surface. As if it was automatic, an instinct developed over years of having to keep his guard up, Namjoon looked at where Yoongi’s hands were. Even if he knew that his hyung had never hit anyone in his life and probably never would, there was always a first time for everything. Both hands were still on the countertop, Taehyung's misshapen teapot lying innocently between them. He narrowed his eyes and saw that part of the rim had been chipped and for some stupid reason, that touched a nerve in Kim Namjoon’s big, stressed-out brain.

"Park Soohyun happened ages ago! It’s time to fucking let her go, don’t you think?" Namjoon snapped. He threw his hands up and Yoongi winced like he might as well have slapped him across the face. 

"You motherfucker. Don't you dare bring her up, Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi warned. The hands on the counter had turned to fists, white where the knuckles pressed against his fair skin. "It was  _ your _ idea to leave her.” The words came out bitter and vile. “It was your idea to leave her and I left her behind because I  _ listened _ to you."

"Hyung, we were all kids—"

"Yeah, and now you have the fucking audacity to bring  _ another _ kid into this shitshow. The fuck is wrong with that big brain of yours? What don't you understand?"

"Hyung—"

"Fucking shut the fuck up, Namjoon," the other boy cut him off. Suddenly, he was much larger than Namjoon, despite his smaller stature. "I don't even understand why the hell we're doing this job anyway, it's a fucking library book!"

"It's not just a library book."

"Yeah? Then what is it, Kim Namjoon?"

"It's better that you don't know."

"Fuck you."

Yoongi all but spat at him before grabbing his things on the counter and storming out, slamming the door behind him. Namjoon watched as his hyung's slouched back became engulfed in darkness and pretty soon he couldn't see him anymore. All he could hear was the familiar sound of his motorcycle roaring to life, reminding him to breathe, because for a second there it felt like all the air in the room had disappeared

He glanced at Taehyung's broken teapot on the countertop and down at his hands. They were shaking and he hadn’t even noticed. He clenched and unclenched them, trying to even his breath. Once he was calm enough he went behind the counter again and looked for his phone. He went into his recent calls list, tapped on Seokjin’s name and waited, but there was no answer. He tried again, and again, but Seokjin didn’t pick up. He dialed Taehyung’s number.

“Hello?” a deep voice carried over through the receiver. “Joonie-hyung? What’s wrong?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at my studio, why?”

“Is Seokjin-hyung with you?”

“What?” Namjoon heard rustling, like Taehyung had gotten up and was doing something in a hurry. He was probably naked again; he always said working was easier for him that way. “No, I thought he was with you. He’s not there?”

“No. I haven’t seen him all day, and he’s not answering his phone. I have to talk to him about the job.”

“What’s wrong? Shit,” he heard Taehyung curse under his breath. “I’m sorry, hyung, I really thought you were together. I went to Gangnam earlier but he wasn’t home and I figured he was still at Somin’s…Should we call her?”

Namjoon stilled. Somin didn’t particularly like either of them, and he had a feeling he wasn’t in the best state to talk to her either. Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure if Seokjin was missing or if he was just out late. He checked the clock. It was close to eleven at night. 

“No, let’s just—“ he steadied his voice so Taehyung wouldn’t worry. “Maybe he’s just out somewhere, I’m sure he’s alright. Don’t worry, Taehyungie. Should we meet at his apartment and wait for him together?”

“Yes,” the answer came even before Namjoon could finish his question, and in a few minutes he was out of the Calico Moon and in the darkness of Seoul.

—-

"Gu ddaeng!" _ Taehyung threw a pair of nines triumphantly on the striped picnic mat. The small red cards landed face-up with a satisfying  _ thwack _ and Seokjin looked up to see a broad grin on the younger boy's face. Namjoon had folded some time before, his hand laying face down in front of him. Seokjin considered his own, one arm propped lazily on a knee as he and the two younger boys sat under the big camphor tree inside the Daenamu Kim estate. _

_ The tree was perched atop a hill, overlooking a section of the pond where it was clean enough to swim. It was late summer, and a breeze blew from the water, cooling the layer of perspiration on his nape. Inside the main house, Namjoon's mother was hosting one of her parties, this one thrown in the guise of "one last get-together before the children went back to school" which really, felt more like a celebration than anything else. _

_ "Uh-uh, not so fast," Seokjin tutted as Taehyung began to gather the pile of small jewelry, bills in various currencies and contraband candy toward himself. The boys hadn't seen each other much since Namjoon's grandfather's party. Seokjin was on vacation from his German boarding school, and Taehyung was on break from his apprenticeship at Paju City. Namjoon was home from his second year at Seoul University. The eldest boy, in particular, didn't really want to be there, having begged his mother not to bring him along, and trying to use college exam preparations as an excuse. _

_ "Please don't make me go into that nest of vipers by myself," she sighed when she spoke to him that morning. She sat at her Lucite desk, manicured fingernails tapping on the surface. "You can bring the boy, if you want." _

_ Seokjin narrowed his eyes. Even after six years of living with them, she still addressed Taehyung as little as possible. He regarded her as he stood in her home office, thinking of how there was always something in the way that his mother spoke that always seemed less than innocent. Though he couldn't quite tell what it was, it made him feel weird, like there was always a layer of artifice surrounding her, emanating from her like a cold cloud of smoke. It scared him. _

_ "Well, what is it, Kim Seokjin?" his mother snapped him back to attention. Patience was never her strong suit.  _

_ "Fine," he sighed. “His name is Kim Taehyung, by the way.” _

_ He turned on his heel before she could react. Since he got back, he hadn’t been able to spend any time with Taehyung, who had been home a few days before him. Paju City was about two hours north of Gwacheon, a stone’s throw away from the DMZ. It was also the epicenter of Hae Kim influence. When Jin got his student visa, the younger boy had told Somin that he was quitting school to be an apprentice under Seokjin's father. The older man doted on him and called him 'Sunflower' in front of his wife and two children; stayed up late with him talking about Basquiat and Rimbaud and de Kooning. It was very weird. Somin only scoffed and said that if he was to be useful at all, she'd have him learn from the master forgers of Paju instead.  _

_ Arriving at the Daenamu estate, he and Taehyung stood in the parlor together, nursing Cokes at one corner where they would get the least noticed. Shoulder to shoulder, the 14-year-old still stood a good couple of inches shorter than him, which somehow gave Seokjin an odd twinge of satisfaction. They watched as people milled about in front of them in an endless chatter. _

_ "Ah, hyung, this is boring," the younger boy groaned, wrinkling his nose.  He wasn’t as skinny as the last time Seokjin saw him, though that glint of mischief in his eye was still there. "Let's go find Namjoon-hyung." _

_ They trudged up the tower staircase and knocked on the door that led to Namjoon's attic room. After a few moments, it opened, and Seokjin was mildly surprised at the person on the other side. Maybe he'd been away for too long, but where he'd expected to see the scrawny, nerdy Namjoon with his lanky legs and glasses, there was a tall, well-built young man with tan skin and full lips standing before them. His thick, black hair stuck out at odd angles and it looked like he'd just woken up. _

_ "Hey," Namjoon said, blinking after he’d gathered enough sense to know what was going on and who were at his door. He gave them a sheepish smile and Seokjin was finally able to see the awkward boy he’d grown up with. _

_ “Hey yourself,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “I’m still older than you by two years or have you forgotten—” _

_ “Namjoonie-hyung!” Taehyung hurtled past him to embrace Namjoon. The older boy still seemed out of it for the most part, but he grinned when Taehyung hugged him. _

_ “Yah, what the—” Seokjin frowned at being handled so roughly and for the blatant informality. “Since when did ‘Namjoonie-hyung’ happen?” _

_ “Aish, hyung, could you tell him to quit it?" Namjoon half-heartedly struggled as Taehyung wrapped his arms around him in a back hug, laying a cheek on one shoulder. "Taehyung-ah, your breath tickles and it smells so bad, get off!" _

_ "That's enough," Seokjin commanded and the other boy pulled off of Namjoon, only to give both of them a boxy grin. Seokjin looked at Namjoon curiously, only then noticing that his stutter was gone. It looked like Seoul U fixed more than his awkwardness. _

_ "What?" Taehyung said innocently. "I'm sorry, ok, I missed you." Both boys looked at him, still so unused to how bright he was compared to the people they usually met. He cast his big eyes to the floor and pouted. _

_ "Yah, I was only kidding, Taehyung-ah," Namjoon reached out and mussed up his hair. Kim Taehyung was a good kid, if not too adoring for his own good. _

_ "Ugh, I thought you were being serious," relief flooded his face, then he frowned. "Hyung, do you know how boring it is at Paju? It’s like forty hours a day of calligraphy and painting and binding and everything is ancient, including the houses and the people. I'm the only kid there and they make me do all the chores.” _

_ “So, go to regular school then,” Seokjin rolled his eyes and walked further into Namjoon’s bedroom. Taehyung took a seat on one of the beanbags and Namjoon sat on the unmade bed. There were books scattered everywhere, as well as clothes and a mug with “Seoul U” emblazoned on it in maroon lettering. Seokjin hadn’t even taken his entrance exams. What if he couldn’t even pass? What if nobody wanted him? Yet, here was Kim Namjoon, tall, tan and an intellectual at 15, making it look like it was easy. He sighed to himself as he ran his fingers through the books and papers on Namjoon’s desk, unfamiliar terms and diagrams scrawled all over them. Under everything, Seokjin found sketches of what looked like the Daenamu Kim manor. Why would Namjoon need the plans for the house that he lived in? _

_ “Ah, hyung, it’s rude to go through other people’s stuff, don’t you think?” his thoughts were cut off by Namjoon’s hand quickly gathering the documents and taking them away. Seokjin was about to say something else but Taehyung interrupted him again.  _

_ "Let's play a game!" he jumped to his feet.  _

_ "What game?" Namjoon asked, too casual to be believable. _

_ "It's called," the youngest paused for dramatic effect. "Let's Pickpocket the Guests Downstairs and See Who Gets the Most Stuff." _

_ “Those people are literally the biggest criminals of their generation,” Seokjin scoffed. "Why the heck would we steal from them?" _

_ "Hmm," Taehyung pretended to consider the question for a moment. "Because it would be really fun?" Seokjin made a face at him, simultaneously intrigued and distressed at how guiltless the two seemed to be. _

_ "They'll expect it the least—" Namjoon cut in, already changing into jeans and a clean shirt. ”—which makes them the perfect target." _

_ The Daenamu boy led them down the staircase and into the parlor, where the adults barely noticed that they’d come and gone. Standing at a corner again, Seokjin felt nauseous looking at the crowd of people in front of him. He took a deep breath and let it out in an even exhale, trying to quell the intense urge to piss all over himself. Usually, he’d taken things when he was anxious or mad, and being able to steal things gave him a sense of calm. After some time, however, it would make him feel very guilty. He hated himself for doing it, so he’d never stolen for  _ fun _. _

_ Seokjin glanced to his side and locked eyes with Namjoon, who’d been looking at him with a soft, dimpled smile. He supposed the younger boy did it to calm him down, but the pounding in his chest only got louder. So, he did what he did when he didn't know what else to do.  _

_ He winked. He winked at Namjoon and the other boy chuckled out loud.  _

_ Namjoon made the same giggling sound as Seokjin laid his own cards on the mat, revealing one that had a white crane on its face and one that had a big round moon. Both cards had the Chinese character for "bright" on the lower left corner. _

_ " _ Gwang ddaeng _ , gentlemen." _

_ Taehyung let out an indignant cry. Seokjin gathered his spoils one by one, counting with great flourish.  _

_ "Something stinks," Taehyung scowled. "Something definitely stinks. Hyung." He turned to Namjoon, sprawled out on the mat, one leg dangling on the green grass. Sunlight streamed through the big tree’s leaves, mottling his tan skin with specks of light. Small, hard navy-colored berries were scattered on the grass around him, the menthol smell filling his lungs as he took deep breaths.  _

_ "That's probably the tree," Namjoon said, eyes closed as a breeze blew over him. Seokjin felt it on his back as it cooled the layer of sweat that had formed there after they'd run out of the main house with pockets full of loot. Taehyung huffed cutely, and slapped Namjoon on the thigh. _

_ "Or you," Seokjin added. Taehyung made a face and grabbed the deck of cards from the center of the mat.  _

_ "That's it, I’ll be the dealer so you can't cheat," he shuffled the deck as Seokjin scoffed at the accusation of cheating. Namjoon propped himself on his elbows. He smiled at how much Taehyung hated losing and how much his hyung hated getting called out. _

_ "Why you," Seokjin threw a hard camphor berry at him. "How dare you accuse me? It’s not my fault you’re a lousy card player— Ow!"  _

_ Taehyung had thrown a berry back and in a flash, was pelting Jin with a handful that he'd secretly been collecting while they played. Seokjin scrambled to his feet and took off, the younger boy chasing behind him with loud yelps. _

_ “Joonie-yah! Help!" Seokjin called out as Taehyung pursued him relentlessly into the pond, still fully clothed down to their sneakers and socks. His face lit up with glee as he splashed water in his hyung's face, sending it into funny grimaces. _

_ "Yah, hyung, he was cheating us all along!" the younger boy yelled. "There's  _ hwatu _ cards floating all over the water!" _

_ "No, there aren't!" Seokjin shouted back, indignant at the accusation. He reached over and dragged Taehyung into the water, making sure to cling to his body so that he’d get thoroughly wet. When Seokjin looked up, he saw Namjoon holding on to his stomach, doubled over  laughing. Taehyung kept splashing water on him and soon the sound of their giggles and shrieks rang in the summer air. _

_ When he looked up, he saw Namjoon at the edge of the pond, the smile on his face going all the way up to his eyes. Seokjin raised his hand and waved at him to come and help but then the other boy’s expression changed. He took something out of his pocket, which Jin later realized was a phone, and ducked his head to speak into the receiver.  _

_ "I'll go get towels!" he called over to them, one hand cupped over the phone. Seokjin watched him walk away, wondering where the shy, awkward boy he knew went and who this mysterious, worldly person was who took his place.  _

_ After a while, he and Taehyung made their way back to the bank. Their clothes were soaked all the way through and felt heavy against their bodies, so Jin let himself fall boneless on the grass. Taehyung stretched out right beside him, letting himself dry under the sun. Its rays felt warm on their faces, and though Seokjin briefly thought about how he'd get scolded for laying under the sun without a stitch of sunblock, he quickly decided to push the thought away.  _

_ Jin closed his eyes, listening to the other boy next to him, and considered how there was nothing that could've hinted at Kim Taehyung's arrival six years ago.  _

_ “Where’d Namjoonie-hyung go?” Taehyung turned his head toward Seokjin as they lay on the grass. Even then, he still didn’t have a clear idea of who Kim Taehyung was. He wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to know.  _

_ “He said he’d get towels,” Seokjin answered, eyes still closed. It felt peaceful here. He heard nothing but birds chirping overhead, frogs croaking by the water. Taehyung breathing beside him. It felt like being surrounded by rarefied air. _

_ As he began to doze off, he felt the back of someone’s hand touch his own. He didn’t move, mainly because his mind was still catching up and hadn’t yet decided what the rest of his body would do. Taehyung was 14, he was 17. He was hardly home, and neither was the younger boy, but by all intents, they were still part of the same household. His mind traveled back to the night they first met, and thought that maybe this was just a comfort-seeking measure on Taehyung’s part because godammit it was fucking comforting to him right then.  _

_ He kept his eyes closed and felt a fingertip tentatively trace the inside of his palm. Whatever innocence the gesture had promptly disappeared when he felt Taehyung’s willowy body hover over him.  _

_ “Hyung,” he heard his voice and there was something strange about it, like he was hearing it for the first time. “I want to kiss you.” _

_ Almost comically, Seokjin opened his eyes wide, but instead of Tae laughing and telling him it was a joke, he saw that the younger boy’s brow was furrowed, his expression earnest.  _

_ “S-sorry,” Taehyung stammered, a wave of self-consciousness washing over him. Seokjin has never seen it on him. He moved away from Jin and sat up on the grass, and the older boy followed suit.  _

_ “Why?” Seokjin asked, filling the silence between them.  _

_ “Why what?” he could see the panic in Taehyung’s face, and it pained him.  _

_ “Why’re you sorry?” he clarified. His mind had finally caught up with him, and he realized how difficult a question that must be. “Are you afraid?” _

_ “Yeah, I’m afraid. Of course, ’m afraid. Are you kidding?” the boy blurted out, and Seokjin remembered how precious Taehyung was, despite and because of his candor. _

_ “You don’t have anything to be afraid of,” The older boy replied solemnly, moving closer so that their faces were only a hair’s breadth apart. Taehyung smelled like camphor berries, dirt and the sun. “Do you still want to kiss me?” _

_ “Yes,” the boy’s voice shook as the word escaped him. Mustering all his courage, Seokjin closed the gap between them, soft lips touching as they lay on the damp earth. It felt like his brain was short-circuiting. He was probably dying, too, but everything was fine. This was OK. Taehyung tilted his head and pressed nearer, tongue prodding his hyung’s lips apart, reaching. Seokjin cupped his cheek with one hand to steady himself, because he definitely didn’t want the other boy to know that he was shaking. It might‘ve been too late for any of those worries, but at least, he tried. _

_ Taehyung broke off from the kiss with a wide grin on his face. Seokjin was sure that his own face was burning then, but he ended up grinning, too. Their hands were still clasped together when another breeze blew over them, sending their bodies into shivers. From a distance, Seokjin heard a soft thump and his head whipped to see Namjoon’s retreating back, the towels left unceremoniously on the mat with the pot of money, jewelry and candy long forgotten. _

_ Seokjin and Taehyung spent the night together that day. Nothing happened than a few more kisses as the two of them held each other in the older boy’s room, the moon glowing red outside his window. _

_ When they awoke, they did so to news that Kim Youngsik, former Minister of Education and current  _ dumok _ of the Daenamu Kim, was found murdered in his study in Ilsan, body slit open from his throat down to his waist.  _

_ His only grandson, Kim Namjoon, had disappeared in the night.  _

—-

This wasn’t how Seokjin planned to spend the night. In his defense, he’d been ready to pay for the Clubmasters that he lifted from the department store. That is, until he realized that he’d spent the last of his cash in the food court and that there wasn’t enough credit in the cards he’d brought with him. He knows, it was a stupid way to get caught.

The meeting with his mother had rattled him so much that he left without a car and a driver, and it wasn’t like Kim Somin to come running after her sons. In fact, Seokjin couldn’t even remember if his mother ever chased them when they were young. That task was always left to the nannies and maids, but above all, Somin believed that he and his brother would learn best by facing the natural consequences of their actions.

_ How about this as a natural consequence, huh _ , he thought. Seokjin listened as a pair of drunk men heckled the honorable officers of the Seoul Police Department from inside their detention cell. They’d been there even before Seokjin was transferred by mall security, and by the looks of it, they’d been giving the police considerable grief that they didn’t even spare him a glance as he was escorted into the station. 

The store guard that brought him in was an asshole who’d kept him in a cramped room at the smelly mall basement for hours. Seokjin refused to give his personal details on account of the guard and his friends eyeing him like fresh meat. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that he looked like his parents owned the department store itself, but he couldn’t very well call his parents, could he? He couldn’t call Taehyung or Namjoon, because his phone had died some time ago. He knows.  _ Stupid stupid stupid _ . Another hour had passed at the station and he wasn’t booked or attended to, so by the time he walked up to a desk to tell them to either let him go or give him a damn phone call, the brat in Kim Seokjin was already in an especially bad mood.

If he was being completely honest, Seokjin’s heart pounded in his ears when he first came in, and he thought he was going to pass out. He'd never been inside a precinct before, and considering the type of hobbies he had (such as, well, selling off the stuff that Yoongi and Namjoon stole), he supposed that response was entirely natural.

To keep himself from shaking, he tried to think of something else. 

He thought of the day that he met Kim Taehyung, very early one morning as summer was about to begin. It was warm then. Taehyung sat at the kitchen table, a small child about seven or eight. He looked up at Seokjin with wide eyes, and suddenly it felt as if the earth was shaking beneath his feet. 

_ Kim Seokjin's life had been proceeding like always. He woke up at 6am—on the clock—had breakfast with his family and attended his classes, which went on even when school was out. He usually arrived home past midnight, in a chauffeured SUV that looked more like an armored car. The apartment would be dark and quiet as he climbed up the stairs and tried his best not to faint so he could take a shower and memorize 50 more vocabulary words before he went to sleep.  _

_ On the day that Taehyung came, Seokjin's ride was late. In hindsight, that should've clued him in that something was amiss, but he was too tired and irritated to think about it. He snapped at the driver for taking so long and slammed the car door as hard as an eleven-year-old could. Sure, he was supposed to be polite and not complain, but for the perverse amount of money his parents threw at their staff, the least they could do was come on time and make sure he didn't get kidnapped or killed out there on the street. _

_ His stomach grumbled as they drove through Gwacheon. Seokjin spotted a brightly lit cart on the side of the road and told the driver to pull over. The street was deserted, though most of the neon signs above the stores still burned on. Jin approached the cart and greeted the old lady minding it, and asked to buy the three remaining bags of bunggeo-ppang that she still had. He knew that he probably wouldn‘t be able to finish them all, that he was being ambitious and greedy, but right then, he was hungry. _

_ “Please get home safe,” he bowed to the ahjumma, who gave him a gummy smile as she waved him away. _

_ The bags of fish bread felt warm on his lap as they made their way uptown. Before long, the car was filled with a freshly-baked bread smell and he tried his best to hold off eating until he got home. The chauffeur got out of the car after they pulled in, and Seokjin quickly placed one bag on the driver's seat. _

_ The granite floor was cold against his socked feet so he hugged the bags of bread even closer to his body. He padded over to the kitchen in the dark, knowing exactly where to step and where not to, their house’s layout seared into his brain. _

_ He remembered how his heart almost stopped when he saw the small figure hunched at the kitchen table, delicate fingers cradling its face and staring straight into the dark. Seokjin jumped back and almost fell on his butt. The boy noticed this, of course, and his head snapped in Jin's direction. He gaped at Seokjin for a little bit, wide eyes adjusting in the dark. _

_ "W-who are you?" Seokjin had stammered, feet frozen on the granite floor.  _

_ "I'm Kim Taehyung," the boy answered. “Who are you?” _

_ "I’m Kim Seokjin. I live here,” Seokjin narrowed his eyes. Did he enter a different house? Was  _ he _ the one breaking in? "What are you doing here?" _

_ "I was hungry and I thought there'd be food," he blinked. "This is a kitchen, right? _

_ "Uh, yes," Seokjin scanned the room. Everything was as it always was and familiar, save for the presence of this stranger in the middle of it. "How did you get in here? Does anyone know you're here?” _

_ "I don’t know, hyung,” he fell quiet, looking down at his hands under the table. Seokjin thought he recognized some kind of Gyeongsangdo accent in the soft way that the little boy spoke. None of his classmates spoke like that. _

_ Hyung. Even then, Seokjin felt no sense of danger around Kim Taehyung. He walked forward and placed one of the bags of bread on the table in front of the other boy. "Here. It's still warm. Do you like bunggeo-ppang?" _

_ Taehyung raised his face then and nodded his head enthusiastically. Even in the dark, Seokjin could tell that he was a cute kid, with his big ears and rounded cheeks, which got even rounder when he stuffed them with food.  _

“The store is willing to drop charges if you pay for the sunglasses,” the man crossed his arms as he spoke to Seokjin. He was in a smaller room, one that looked like it was usually used for interrogations. There was one mirror on a wall, which he assumed was one-way glass. A single, dull light hung from the ceiling.

“What charges?” Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even booked me.”

“Mr. Lee says you won’t give your personal details.”

“Of course I won’t. Have you seen him? He looks like a fucking crook.”

“Sir, please watch your language.”

“Why? Am I under arrest?” He looked at the officer dead in the eyes. He knew he was pushing his luck, but somewhere deep in his lizard brain, he wanted to know what would happen. It was a game kids like him could play. “If so, then don’t I get a phone call?”

The man gaped at him in disbelief. Then, he shook his head.

“No, you’re not arrested,” the officer informed him. Seokjin would’ve sighed in relief except he didn’t want to give the other person the satisfaction.

“Then, why am I still here?” He asked again, making the irritation in his voice very obvious. The officer furrowed his brow at him for what seemed like a very long time and Seokjin wanted to laugh. Maybe that was a particularly difficult question for him.

“Look,” the man shook his head in exasperation. “Have you seen the people out there?” It sounded like a rhetorical question so Jin didn’t answer. “This station gets dozens of those kinds of people each day. Drunks, vagrants and gamblers.”

Seokjin stared at the pane of glass. He wondered if there were people watching them from behind it.

“You seem like you’re from a decent family,“ the man continued. ”And to be frank with you, I’ve got better things to do than sit here and let you run that silver spoon mouth of yours.” Seokjin still didn’t say anything. The man leant back in his chair. “The only reason you’re still here is because that bastard Mr. Lee wouldn’t leave. He kept harassing us about getting you to pay but if it were up to me, you’d have gotten home a long time ago. You don’t belong here, you’re not one of those people.”

Seokjin tried to stifle the sour wave of guilt creeping up his chest. If he was being honest with himself (again), he knew that what the man was saying was true. He wasn’t one of those people. He was worse. There was no real reason for him to be doing what he did, and yet here he was, at a police station for shoplifting. And he was going to get away with it, too.

He tried to push those thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time to examine his life choices; he just wanted to go home. Another wave of guilt threatened to make its way out, blooming in his chest, at the thought of returning to Taehyung and Namjoon, who must have noted his absence by now and were turning over Seoul trying to find him. What was he supposed to say? How could he tell them without causing them undue burden? All his life he’d felt unnecessary, like an afterthought. The second, less successful son. The least successful Kim.

“So,” the officer snapped him back to the present. “I’m going to let you go for now, but only if you promise that you’ll do better with your life and I won’t ever see you here again.”

Seokjin didn’t know how to reply, so in the end he only said, “Sure.” The man gave him a slight nod. “Thanks,” it came out as a question, almost. 

He rose to his feet and started to go but then he paused and turned to the man still seated across the table.

“Can I have that phone call now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, scene~
> 
> I worked really hard on this chapter to get it just right, it and me went through so much and at one point I had to let it go, so there it went lol. There’s smut in the next chapter, which is already done and edited (!!!). **insert can a depressed person do that?? meme** AHHHH please leave me comments or kudos or whatever, I am shallow af and thrive on those things. Thank you I love you and please know that you are never alone. ^-^
> 
> I have a writing twt now! It’s [here](https://twitter.com/zaemitgettau) and you can find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta), too.


	8. about hoseok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And Hobi. Hobi was smiling. He was grinning from ear to ear as he felt Yoongi’s warmth and the way the delicate muscles of his body tensed. He loved this; loved the give and take, the familiarity and the fear that came with first loves. Requited loves. The only other feeling that came close was when he raced, young life on the balance of euphoria and death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Since I was able to write this quicker, I’m uploading this now. Keep in mind that this chapter is unbeta-ed, though I did go through it lots of times and had fun running it through readability apps. Tell me how you like it (or don’t, that’s ok, too).
> 
> Been going through some things lately, and writing has helped a lot, but I would really love it if more people interacted with this. It keeps me going, really.
> 
> There’s smut in here, plus some back story about Hobi and SOPE just being the best boyfriends. Thank you for sticking by me and my very long paragraphs and exposition. -3-
> 
> [carrd](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal.carrd.co) | [Trailer](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1163112995041398784) | [ Visual Thread](https://youtu.be/NZv3oeOB_mk%20%E2%80%9C>HD</a>%20%7C%20<a%20https://twitter.com/zaemitgettau/status/1201667982839050240)

Yoongi knocked on Hoseok’s door and hoped that the other boy wasn’t yet asleep. The ride over to his boyfriend’s _goshiwon_ calmed him down a bit, though most of the irritation he felt about Namjoon was still there.

He muttered under his breath, mentally counting down the minutes before the security system got up again. Residents weren't allowed to have guests overnight, but Yoongi was desperate. He couldn’t even stand how the thought of Kim Namjoon still impinged on his mind even as he stood outside his boyfriend’s door.

Finally, he saw a pinprick of light flicker through the peephole.

“Hyung?” Hoseok blinked as he held the door open. His lights were still on. By instinct, Yoongi checked his wristwatch and saw that it was well past midnight. “What’re you doing here?”

“Happy anniversary?” Yoongi answered with a weak smile. 

"What?" Hobi's eyes went round. "Really? Is it?"

"No, I'm just kidding," Yoongi smirked. 

"I hate you, you know I get stressed about missing dates," Hoseok narrowed his eyes at him.

“Sorry. Were you asleep, sunshine?”

“Not really,” he blushed. How can he stay mad at Yoongi when he calls him that?

“Trouble sleeping again?"

"Yeah, well," his voice trailed off.

"Can I come in?” Yoongi's feet shuffled at the doorway, shoelaces already untied. "I could cuddle with you until you fall asleep and--"

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Hoseok shook his head in apology and pulled him into what seemed more like closet than a room.

It wasn’t the first time for Yoongi to visit, and nothing much had changed since the last. There didn’t seem like there was any room left to change anything. There was a narrow, single-size mattress on the floor, and it already occupied half of the space. A combination shower and toilet was right next to it, no bigger than a restroom cubicle.

Somehow, there was still space for a cantilevered desk, some shelves and a rack stuffed full of Hoseok’s brightly-colored clothes. The huge, charmingly tacky 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO poster hung on a windowless wall. Small as it was, the room was neat and organized, except for the books and unfinished coursework on Hobi's desk. In the mess, Yoongi could see sheets of telltale yellow paper and a couple of unopened envelopes with bold red lettering on them.

“Aish, sorry for the mess, hyung,” Hoseok stepped between Yoongi and the desk. He gathered his things and stuffed them in a shopping bag. “You should really tell me when you’re coming.”

"Sorry," Yoongi lowered his head and muttered. The truth was, he was so tempted to collapse on the futon, dirty clothes and unwashed feet and all. Except, he looked over at Hobi and knew that if he did, his boyfriend would probably stop talking to him for the next few days. At this rate, he couldn’t afford another person to not talk to.

“Hey, it's alright, hyung-ah," Hoseok gave him a reassuring smile . "How’d you get in anyway?” He tucked the shopping bag full of bills away under the desk. 

“Back door,” Yoongi shrugged.

“What door?” Hobi furrowed his brow, more amused than skeptical.

“The one in the back,” Yoongi replied. “That’s a door.”

“Haha, very funny,” Hoseok rolled his eyes.

"What's with the bills, Hob-ah?" Yoongi ran his fingers along the edge of Hobi's desk.

"Y-you weren't supposed to see those," the other boy stammered, getting red in the face. "Plus it's none of your business. I just...I forgot they were due."

"Are you sure?” Yoongi asked gently. Why was he even asking? Jung Hoseok had a good heart, maybe too good, but he was more impulsive than most. He also had a severe weakness for pretty things. “Are you sure you didn't spend it all on the car again? Like, for a neon underbody?” Immediately, Yoongi wanted to kick himself.

“No, of course not," Hoseok frowned and shook his head. "I said I was _thinking_ about getting it. I _haven't_ gotten it. I wanna be able to race next week so I can _get_ it."

"I'm sorry, Hob-a," Yoongi rubbed his eyes. God, he was exasperating. "I'm so on edge today, I didn't mean anything.”

"I know," Hoseok answered, clasping a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. He paused, considering whether to say the next thing. “My mom got sick again last weekend,” he blurted out and sighed, like he’d just gotten something very heavy off his chest. Hoseok couldn’t lie for the life of him. “So, I told her not to send money for now. Tuition’s paid up anyway, and I have the library gig.” Yoongi _really_ wanted to kick himself.

“Oh, Hoseok-ah,” he pulled him close and hugged him, hand stroking up and down Hoseok’s back. The other boy’s breath was heavy, and Yoongi knew that was Hobi trying not to cry because he almost never did. It didn't fit his life’s vibe, he said. “You know you can ask me for help with anything, right?"

“Yeah,” he gave out one last sigh before facing Yoongi again. "Please don't worry about it. Also,” He flashed that familiar Hobi smile. “Stop trying to change the subject. You haven't told me what happened." He broke off from the hug and leaned on the bathroom door. "Is everything ok? You fight with Joonie again?”

“I'm sorry for barging in, Hobi-ya," He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward now that he’d realized how little he’d thought this plan through. Planning had always been Namjoon’s strong suit. 

“It’s ok,” Hoseok shrugged, accepting the non-answer. He moved closer and cupped Yoongi's face with his hands. He smelled like warm vanilla and white musk, and the heat of his palms calmed Yoongi's heart.

“Hobi-yah," he said, as sweetly as he could. "Can I stay here for tonight?” 

“Of course," Hoseok replied without missing a beat. Then, he leaned closer, lips brushing against Yoongi's ever so lightly before leaving a loud and playful peck on his hyung's soft, pouty lips. "As long as you wash up and brush your teeth first,” he grinned. He tasted like cherries.

\---

Not even an hour later, they lay entangled on the narrow bed; a jumble of legs, blankets and pillows, barely fitting. One of Yoongi’s feet lay on the cold tile while Hobi was squished (quite contentedly) between him and the wall. His breath was warm and sweet against Yoongi’s neck, anyway, and he felt whatever annoyance he had for Namjoon slowly dissipate.

"Sorry, hyung," Hobi said, his voice low and tender. "Is my breathing bothering you? I think I'm getting a cold."

"The last thing that would bother me would be you breathing, Hoseok-ah," Yoongi mumbled. He felt Hobi nuzzle closer, his heart-shaped lips stretching into a relaxed smile. The tip of his nose was just a little bit cold as it traced the curve of Yoongi’s neck, but Yoongi didn’t mind. It was Hobi.

_Jung Hoseok was born on a chilly late winter day in February in Gwangju City, his young life to be marked by more twists and turns than a k-drama on SBS. His mother’s family migrated to New Jersey in the 1980s, during the military government, and that’s where she met Hoseok’s father. He was a university student and she was an apprentice at a dance studio. Driving up and down Pallisade Hills, they found out that they had gone to the same middle school in Gwangju. Yet, neither of them remembered the other, mostly because Hoseok’s father was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and his mother was not._

_Needless to say, they returned to Korea a few years later with his mother already pregnant with his sister Dawon._

_Hoseok followed four years later._

_He’d always been a bright and active child, having more energy than anyone knew what to do with, least of all him. He didn't speak until he was four years old, but when he did, it seemed like he couldn't stop. He laughed loudly and without restraint, and charged through situations with no sense of danger, which caused a fair amount of trouble while he was growing up._

_In pre-school, his teachers complained to his mother about Hobi talking too much or Hobi climbing shelves, Hobi dancing in the middle of the classroom while he and his classmates should be reading or taking naps. In elementary school, like unfailing clockwork, his parents would receive notes about Hoseok not finishing his homework or a project of some kind, Hoseok sleeping in class, Hoseok getting into a fight because he’d lost his temper over a classmate him to hurry hurry hurry can't you go any faster when he’d already been doing his best. It felt like either his mind ran faster than his body, or it didn’t run at all. At the back of his head, he feared that the incredible warmth that people liked about him came from the fact that his brain was almost. always. overheating._

_For the most part, he supposed he was fine with it. Wasn't it normal for a kid, a boy , especially, to be like this? A little slow, a little distracted. His father would reason that school was too competitive these days anyway. His mother would add that it was important for children to enjoy their childhood. Still, when at age eight Hoseok arrived home in tears, asking between sobs why he was born so stupid that he couldn’t even remember beyond eight times eight when his classmates were already starting long division, his mother finally took him to a doctor to get checked._

Yoongi felt Hoseok’s hands wander over his belly, and a warmth spread from where his fingers grazed. It was like the way it felt when the sun’s rays would touch your face at the end of a long, cold night. He held him closer, and Yoongi all but melted, willing his already small body to merge with Hoseok's. It was the easiest thing to do.

Hobi was warm and his bed smelled like heaven and there was nothing else that mattered. Not Namjoon or his stupid library book. Not how much money was in his pocket or the inevitable ride home, though he wished Hoseok would ask him to stay. All that mattered was the way he was held in the dark of this coffin of a room, Hoseok's lips plush against his skin like they were carved for that very location and purpose.

_Hobi’s dad resisted the diagnosis. It was a hoax, he said. He’d read it somewhere. An invention by Western doctors to cover up how neglectful they were as parents and to justify their children being lazy and mediocre. Not his son. His son was perfectly normal, and he wasn’t paying for some hacks to put him in a room for two hours every week so he can play with colored wooden blocks. He also wasn’t getting his only son addicted to the drugs that he knew the doctors would eventually prescribe because it was they who were lazy, they who were mediocre._

_Where his father would take none of the blame, it seemed like his mom accepted all of it. Guilt over how much she worked or how little she attended to him ate her from the inside and though she tried not to let him see, he always did. He remembered how bad he felt each time he saw her like that, her kind face drawn as if somebody, or something, had died._

Yoongi's eyes began to flutter closed when he felt the tip of Hobi's nose prod more eagerly at his earlobe, followed by the gentle sensations of teeth grazing and the quick, wet flick of a tongue. He hadn't realized but Hoseok had half of his weight on him then, caging him with strong arms and leaning over Yoongi. Hoseok rubbed his cheek softly against his, as if asking a silent question.

"What you up to, Hob-a?" Yoongi's voice was a low murmur.

"Sorry,” he whispered. ”There's something about your ears," he explained, or at least tried to.

"What?"

"I like them a lot."

"You're weird," Yoongi buried his face into Hoseok's pillow to hide the satisfied simper on his lips.

"You have pretty ears,” Hoseok curled up closer.

“Oh, but not as pretty as yours,” Yoongi shifted and displaced Hoseok from on top of him. In a swift movement, he darted forward and took his boyfriend's ear between his teeth. Hoseok almost let out a shriek that turned into a hearty laugh and then dissolved into a million giggles. They tousled on the bed for a bit, trying their best to muffle their laughter as hands and mouths and teeth landed in all the secret places where they were most ticklish. Places only they knew.

"Hyung, I want you so bad," Hoseok squeezed his eyes tight when they'd managed to pipe down after a few annoyed raps on the wall from the neighbors.

"Uh-huh," Yoongi smirked, running a thumb down Hoseok’s cheek. "Then take me, Hoshiki, I’m all yours."

Hoseok burst into giggles again, and Yoongi held him close. He'd always thought that he was a happy person, despite everything, but when he was with Yoongi it was different. Calm.

_The differences in his parents’ responses to his diagnosis caused enough friction in the Jung household that when his parents filed for divorce, the young Hoseok couldn’t help but think that it was his fault. He remembered how his noona held his shoulders at the airport departure lounge as he and their mother prepared for their journey back to the States, where he could get the right treatment. He sat there trying to hold back his tears and his noona teased him for being such a crybaby. Hoseok was nine._

_In the US, Hoseok was able to get therapy. After a lot of guilt, pain and struggle, his mother agreed to put him on the medication. Like a lot of moms in a foreign country, she worked multiple jobs, which usually meant that Hoseok was either left with his grandmother (who ran a small convenience store in Koreatown) or by himself at home when he was older. More guilt. At the very least, he did better at school. Some of the fog in his brain began to clear out and he'd learned to work harder to compensate for what the meds failed to address, which was...still a lot._

Yoongi pulled closer. It wasn’t much of an effort considering how narrow the bed was. Hobi drew nearer, too, cautiously, like they hadn’t already kissed a thousand times before. The tip of his nose touched the tip of Yoongi’s and though he was sure that Hoseok couldn’t _see_ him blushing, he was certain that he could _feel_ the heat radiating off his face. 

And Hobi. Hobi was smiling. He was grinning from ear to ear as he felt Yoongi’s warmth and the way the delicate muscles of his body tensed. He loved this; loved the give and take, the familiarity and the fear that came with first loves. Requited loves. The only other feeling that came close was when he raced, young life on the balance of euphoria and death.

_One summer when he was 11, his mom brought him to the country club where she worked. It was the annual day camp opening and the lobby was packed with rich white kids and their parents, along with a smattering of chaebol families with bad cases of logomania. Some Beyoncé played through the sound system, no doubt to appeal to the younger crowd, but it seemed to have gone largely unnoticed. Hoseok loved it all._

_He weaved in and out of the crowds while his mother was busy sorting out salsa schedules. Somehow, he found himself at the tennis courts, where a tall, good-looking Korean boy scowled at the racket in his hands. The boy wore a white polo and even whiter tennis shoes, his fair skin turning a ruddy color under the sun. He looked bored and petulant for the most part, so Hoseok looked around and saw that there was an older Korean man sitting on a lawn chair in the shade, watching him._

_That was the first time he met Choe Hyunshik, once-national tennis team coach, and his son, Choe Sukchul._

_“Yah, you play?” Sukchul called over when he saw Hoseok standing by the sidelines. Hobi blinked at him at first, a bit stunned at being addressed by a strange kid, even though he did look a bit older. He glanced at Hyunshik, who remained in his chair, motionless. Hoseok nodded, remembering the lessons he used to take at the Gwangju welfare center. The trainer there said that he was pretty good. Hoseok didn't believe him, of course, because all he could remember was complaining about the racket being too big and heavy in his hand._

_“I hope you know how to dodge,” the boy smirked as Hoseok passed him and picked up a racket._

_He walked onto that clay court, shaking in his battered thrift shop Adidas, and he was more than good. He was_ great. _Something in his brain clicked into focus as he tracked the little green ball's movement over the net, hitting the racket in his hand and zooming beyond the other boy's reach._

_By the end of the summer, Hyunshik was telling Hoseok’s mother to send her son back to Korea to train for his team._

"Ah, what are you doing to me, Hobi-ya," Yoongi sighed as Hoseok hovered, their lips almost touching but not quite. It occurred to him that it was less of a question for the other boy than for himself.

"Teasing," the other boy chided. Before he could say more, Yoongi closed the gap between them and gave him a kiss through parted lips. Everything became fuzzy and clear at the same time, and Hoseok wished he knew how that all made sense. 

Yoongi deepened the kiss, the thought of _Hoseok Hoseok Hoseok_ flooding his mind and body, setting his soul on fire. The younger boy clasped his cheek in one hand and pulled ever closer, separating Yoongi’s legs with his knee. He hummed when he felt his hyung helplessly comply. They were a perfect fit, Hoseok and Yoongi, and in another moment, the two of them were moving in tandem. Hoseok’s hips became more insistent, thigh grinding between Yoongi’s legs. Hands grasped against fabric as they left each other breathless, aching for more, never satisfied, like the cramped room couldn’t be cramped enough.

Somewhere along the way, Yoongi had gotten naked, sweat glistening on the surface of his pale skin. Hoseok kneeled over him and took off his own clothes, the feeble light outside his room casting shadows on the grooves of his chiseled ab muscles. 

Yoongi’s eyes traveled further downward and saw that Hoseok was almost at full hardness. 

“Is this ok?” Hobi said in a whisper that Yoongi almost didn’t hear. He nodded. It made Yoongi self-conscious, realizing that with such cozy quarters came cozy neighbors. _Goshiwon_ walls were paper thin. He closed his eyes tight and tried to shut out the image of a dozen college students hearing him get railed by his boyfriend’s giant dick.

"Hyung? Already thinking about it, huh?" Hoseok licked his lips. There was a devilish glint in his eyes that made Yoongi blush even harder. He felt control slipping away, and knew that he had to do something.

"Shut up and suck my dick, sunshine," Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

"Ohhh, it's like that?" Hoseok chuckled, thoroughly amused. "With pleasure, hyung-nim," he said with a flourish. He hovered over Yoongi and trailed kisses on his soft belly and down his fuzzy happy trail.

He glanced up one last time before sticking his tongue out and flicking it from the base of Yoongi's dick to the tip, which he took in his mouth and sucked. Yoongi shuddered, exposed and helpless. He placed a hand on Hoseok’s nape and guided his movements, blowing Yoongi like a man half-starved. Hobi’s head bobbed up and down in earnest, tongue swirling and laving at Yoongi’s stiff cock. 

The hair at the back of Hoseok's neck was short and scratched against Yoongi’s hand as the older man’s grip tightened. Hobi looked up and kept their gazes locked as he took Yoongi’s erection to its hilt, burying his nose in the wiry fuzz of Yoongi's pubic hair. His eyes began to water but Hobi willed Yoongi's dick past his gag reflex. Sweet Hobi. Sweet, beautiful, honest Hobi. 

_After many tears and much pleading, Jung Hoseok moved back to South Korea on his own. Choe Hyunshik’s team trained in Gimpo, northwest of Seoul and even though he just turned 12 then, he was sure that it was the right decision. For the first time, it looked like he had an actual future ahead of him and it was bright._

_He called his mom every day over Skype and she sent him care packages every month. His father and sister kept in touch, though it was more the latter than the former. Hoseok found that much of his conversation with his father consisted of awkward questions about school and whether he wasn’t letting tennis get in the way of it. Hyunshik put him up in a dormitory with the other “provincial” trainees and enrolled him in the academy where he was member of the Board. He retained his therapist in the US, whom he saw every year, but found a local doctor in Korea, too. It was very tiring and expensive and there were times when he wanted to go home but he pushed through, because he was in love._

Yoongi bit his lip to stifle the moans escaping him as his cock pushed past the spasms in Hoseok’s throat. He squeezed his eyes tight and tried to gather his senses, because he was sure that he was about to lose it and it was definitely too soon. He ran his fingers through Hoseok’s hair, traces of the time he bleached it blonde still evident on the tips. His other hand was clamped over his own mouth to keep himself from crying out loud.

“H-Hoseok—“ he gasped when the other boy eased on sucking long enough for Yoongi to get a hold of himself.

“Yes, hyung-nim?” Hoseok’s voice was hoarse, his hair in a mussed up mess. He kept stroking Yoongi’s dick, shiny and slick with spit and pre-cum. He looked beautiful and sinister and Yoongi thought he was going crazy.

“I’m going crazy,” he said out loud.

“That’s the idea,” Hoseok broke into laughter. He turned his head and wiped his mouth on a lithe shoulder. Yoongi’s precum smeared on his chin.

“Yah, don’t laugh at me when I’m like this!” he hissed. Hobi keeled over him and buried his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi felt like he was being carried off on a cloud. “And stop calling me hyung-nim! Holy fuck—”

“How? When you’re being so cute?” he asked. There were still tears at the corners of his eyes, both from choking himself on Yoongi’s cock and from giggling. Yoongi wrapped his arms around him to keep him from vibrating with glee.

“Yah, yah,” he squeezed him tight and felt the other boy grind his hips against him again. Still hard. Still hard and so fucking big. “I’m serious, I want you. I’m going insane." Hoseok’s cock pressed hot and stiff against the soft, inner part of his leg, and god it made him desperate.

“Aww, alright, hyungie, I got you,” he smiled against Yoongi’s temple and left a chaste kiss there. He got up and rummaged in his desk drawer, retrieving a familiar bottle of lube.

Yoongi stared at the ceiling, sweat beading on his forehead. In less than a moment, Hoseok was back. The bottle was already uncapped and his fingers were already glistening with lube. He kneeled between Yoongi’s legs and tapped his knee in a gentle request for him to open up. Yoongi spread his legs and reached down to separate his own asscheeks, exposing a tight, pink hole.

“What a good hyung I have,” Hoseok praised and Yoongi trembled. He traced a graceful finger along the space between and inserted the tip of his middle finger, only to take it back. Yoongi gasped and groaned, impatient.

“Dammit, Hoseok, stop teasing,” Yoongi sounded like he was about to cry. His body twitched, trying to run after the sensation of Hoseok fucking into him.

“Oh, but you like it so much, hyungie?” he felt rather than saw the smug look on Jung Hoseok’s face. He did like it. God, when did he become so easy to read? But then, he remembered that Hoseok was the only person who knew him through and through. They’d been each other’s firsts and yet there was a big part of him that he hoped this man, the man he loved with all his heart, would never get to know. He tried to push the thoughts away, which was made easy by the feeling of Hobi’s slender finger sinking into him.

_Jung Hoseok had been in love: with tennis, with Seoul, with a six-foot-two, twelfth-grade jock who drove a matte orange Audi R8 to school. Sukchul hardly went to class because of all the sports events he had to go to. Partly because he often won and partly because of his father, it didn’t seem that anybody cared. Least of all Sukchul. He was conventionally handsome, popular, and went through life with such ease and confidence that captivated the teenage Hoseok, who barely had anything or anyone in Seoul and had to work so hard to catch up with everything, from school to the team to his own mind._

_On his third year, Sukchul found out about Hobi’s ADHD and the fact that he had a steady supply of Ritalin coming to him through his mother. He was impressed. Like all ADHD meds, methylphenidate was considered a controlled substance in Korea, so much so that it was as good as illegal. Suddenly, Hoseok was cool. He was part of the in-group, invited to parties where he danced with people that didn’t used to give him a second look. He and Sukchul became friends. The older boy brought him to the tracks on the city's edge, to Gimpo’s abandoned airstrips, where they drank and raced Sukchul’s sports car without a single care in the world._

_It was where he’d first met Yang Hongseok and his friends, whom the varsity crowd liked to call ‘baekjeong.’ Butchers. Untouchables. Nobody knew much about them aside from the fact that they lived at the junkyards, raced, tore cars apart and maybe…people, too. Suffice to say that Hoseok didn’t want to know about it in detail. In any case, if he had any anxiety about his disorder being found out, all was quickly forgotten as the orange Audi raced through the outskirts of Seoul. Hoseok felt like he finally belonged somewhere._

Yoongi writhed under him as Hoseok thrust three fingers in without much difficulty. His ass glistened with lube and he keened, his boyfriend’s fingers gentle but certain. Familiar. He knew Yoongi in and out, or at least that was what he thought. 

"God, Hoseokie, p-please—“

"Had enough?" he smirked and Yoongi could do nothing but nod his head. "Want more?" more nodding. "Ah, such a good hyung for me.”

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Yoongi’s temple, tasting the sweat off his milky skin. Hoseok squeezed more lube out and coated his cock before lining up against his opening. His hyung’s pretty legs splayed out indecently in front of him, his pupils blown and locked onto Hoseok’s sex. His lips stretched into a haughty smile as he looked down at Yoongi, burning red and already wrecked. 

“I swear to fucking god if you don’t—"

"Shhh,” Hoseok buried the head of his penis into Yoongi, making the boy’s breath hitch. Hoseok himself hissed when he felt how Yoongi’s hole struggled to take him all in. He sucked a breath in and began to rock into his boyfriend’s ass, hands steady on his hyung’s hips. It was taking everything in him not to get carried away.

“Fucking fuck me already, goddammit,” Yoongi was starting to talk nonsense. Hoseok ran his fingernails down his sides before bottoming out, per request. Yoongi let out a louder whine than he intended and covered his mouth in embarrassment. Hoseok reached out to swipe a stray wisp of hair from Yoongi's forehead. The tips of his fingers travelled down his hyung’s chest, landing on the soft bulge that his dick made in Yoongi’s tummy as he fucked him.

”Oh, god, hyung,” he groaned, hips snapping to a steady rhythm. If the neighbors didn‘t hear all the moaning then they definitely heard the frantic smack of skin against skin.

“Ah, ah, Hobi-ya..." Yoongi struggled not to keen. It felt like his soul was about to escape from his body. "Your neighbors...they’re gonna hear...a-and t-tell your landlord—“

“Are you thinking about my landlord right now?” Hobi teased again. He gripped Yoongi's legs and slammed into him, relentless. He knew it was a bit mean, but he made sure that the head of his fat cock pressed against Yoongi's prostate for the fun of it. Hobi's landlord was a balding, middle-aged man but considering how dick-drunk Yoongi was, he'd also started to imagine sucking the older man's dick while Hoseok fucked his ass open and it made him feel filthy and overwhelmed and so. fucking. turned on.

Yoongi covered his mouth and face with his arms to stifle the helpless whimpers coming out of him.

“I d-don’t even think I can think right now, fuck,” heat rose to his face and he was sure he was bathing in sweat. 

“Then don’t” Hobi lingered over him and tongued the side of Yoongi’s neck. He rolled his nipples between his fingers, just the way he knew his hyung liked it. It started to sound like Yoongi would cry.

“Holy sh—“ 

Hoseok took Yoongi’s mouth in his as he tugged harder on the pink nub, sending tears rolling down the older boy’s cheek. Hoseok chuckled as he got up again, running his fingers through his own damp hair, revealing a high, aristocratic forehead. His expression was dark and hungry, despite his relentless teasing and laughter. His hips slowed and Yoongi reached for him, uselessly grasping at his muscles.

"Ah, please don't stop," he whined, lips in a pout. Hoseok scoffed in disbelief at how his hyung would use his cuteness against him. He wanted nothing but to mark him up with cum, but he had to wait for the right time. “‘m so close, Hob-a, w-want to come p-please...”

Hoseok plunged into Yoongi over and over, bucking his hips with abandon. His hyung clenched around him, taking him so well, being so good. He gasped for air and dug his fingers into Yoongi's skin, fair in the moonlight, and they fucked and fucked and fucked. He spit on Yoongi’s hapless little body and jerked him off until his hyung spilled helpless under him, cum spurting all over his stomach.

“Come’re, come’re,” Hoseok pulled out and waved Yoongi to his knees. He stood, careful to steer clear of his blankets and pillows. Yoongi opened his mouth obediently and took Hobi in, pouty lips stretching with his girth. ”Will you let me come down your pretty throat, hyung-ah?” Yoongi closed his eyes and nodded, letting Hoseok fuck his face as much as he wanted. A few more thrusts and Hoseok reached his peak, sending thick ropes of cum down Yoongi’s throat.

\---

Yoongi sat on the bed as his boyfriend lay beside him on new sheets, vanilla and Hoseok wafting in the air. His old sheets were tangled and bunched up in one corner of the small room. The lone street lamp outside his window cast it in a warm, yellow glow, disturbed only by the light of Yoongi’s phone as it vibrated on the desktop. He reached for it without even having to get up, eyes passing over the bag where Hoseok had stashed away his late bills and unfinished work. He checked the message then furrowed his brow. 

“Where you going, hyung?” Hobi muttered half-asleep when he felt Yoongi get up and begin to get dressed.

“Jin-hyung,” he replied, crawling over and threading his fingers through Hoseok’s hair in an assuring gesture. He ran his hand along Hoseok’s arm to get him to fall asleep. 

“Is everything ok?” Hoseok asked. Yoongi knew that this was how his mom used to put him to bed and it worked every time. "You still haven't answered my question," he mumbled, already drifting away.

“Yes, sunshine,” he whispered. “Everything is fine.”

Yoongi wondered when it became so easy for him to lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a writing twt now! It’s [here](https://twitter.com/zaemitgettau) and you can find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta), too.
> 
> I also set up a [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/zaemitgetta) because I really like the Ulysses app and want to keep using it, hehe.


	9. act. break.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um,” Jungkook paused and stared at the photo of Teenage Namjoon on his screen, eyes hazy and drunk. Kim Namjoon, even younger than Jungkook was at the moment, looking smug and shit-faced and in a place he wasn’t supposed to be. Without much soul-searching, Jungkook understood how he’d get himself in that situation. He wondered if Seokjin-hyung knew. Jungkook supposed everyone had secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooooo!! it's been a while. i want to say thank you to everyone who's read this fic even when i havent updated. thank you for your comments! a lot of stuff happened irl that kind of put me in a loop, but i'm always trying to get better. i'm back in grad school for a penalty subject so that might eat into my fic hobby (or it may inspire it! we never know)
> 
> anyways, onto what feels like the longest night ever, we're continuing with our plot this chapter with very minimal backstory (there's still some! because i'm a sucker for back stories. it's Jimin's btw and i'm still gonna ask you to hold off before you accuse me of writing him stereotypically). anyways anyways, this chapter has lots of surprises! i won't make these notes longer than necessary, but please know that most if not all of the things here were done purposefully. TW for blood and gore, but not that much. Ah also TW for stalking/stalkery behavior. Although our Jungkookie is young and still learning about limits, he’s quite stubborn when he sets his mind on something.
> 
> thanks always to my betas and support system, Niq and Quinn, and thank you for staying with me. til next!
> 
> PS!
> 
> it's not my first time to put idols in drag (hello Fortuna Kookie) but Anie Mei and Gigi Galaktik are my more developed ones. Anie is Pentagon's Yanan and Gigi is Pentagon's Shinwon. I made Pinterest boards even, lol (they can be found [here](https://pin.it/6xxg76iopdyrjv) For Anie Mei and [here](https://pin.it/rli6fs27kjnftf) For Gigi). I also talked about their conceptualization on my  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1215134795417538560?s=21), if you’re interested. ^-^
> 
> i considered how to say this directly in the narrative, but it made me uncomfortable just thinking of someone possibly deadnaming or outing another person so i decided against it. if it doesnt make sense to you, please rest assured that it makes sense for that character and that's the most important thing.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, [tweet](https://twitter.com/zaemitgettau) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta). I also have a [ko-fi](https://kofi.com/zaemitgetta) now, if you're so inclined to leave me a tip. ^-^

Jeon Jungkook wasn't supposed to be on the roof.

The door on top of the stairs was locked to discourage loiterers, or so his landlord said. Jungkook knew that the truth was, jumpers were all too common on this side of Mapo, and nobody wanted to take the risk. It felt like there was always this steady stench of homesickness and fear of failure that hung in the air. It clung to the walls and rose from the floors until it took on an almost physical form, and tried to push you off a precipice. It stuck to the skin and the clothes of the students who lived there and made everyone smell like one big miserable family. It was very bad for business.

Jungkook was far from considering that option, but it was a little after midnight and he was supposed to be in his room. Sleeping. But how? After everything that he'd seen.

He reached for his back pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He wasn't supposed to be smoking either, but he was antsy tonight. In any case, what was a stick of tobacco compared to the smog of Seoul that surrounded him? He remembered Yoongi and his story about the sniper on the roof and realized what a lame excuse that was. But then, at least this way, maybe he could calm down.

A few hours ago, he'd been sitting in his bedroom, looking up Seo Daeho and, begrudgingly, Park Jimin.

He rented one of the smaller bedrooms by himself, but it was less a bedroom than a room with a bed. Well, a mattress. On the floor. Without bedsheets. He didn't even have pillows, he had rolled up towels. Anyway. he didn't share it with anyone so what was the point? As long as it was moderately clean when the landlord came by to collect rent, it was fine. It wasn't like the man cared. On that particular night, he'd just made a payment, so no regard was given to the cans of soda, free weights and Banana Kick wrappers scattered everywhere.

Banana Kick. Jungkook shook his head at how childish it was. He remembered Kim Taehyung offering him banana milk in the library, his wicked lips on the thin, plastic straw. What a strange hyung. Come to think of it, all the hyungs seemed weird, in a murder mystery kind of way.

He sat in the middle of the darkened, messy room, flanked by monitors, and made his way into deeper and deeper parts of the web that he'd never gone to before. With regard to Seo Daeho, he found a lot of the usual things and one that was very unusual.

It didn't seem like Seo Daeho existed.

Well, on paper (digital paper, he guessed) Jungkook found the typical stuff. Seo Daeho had plenty of charitable and academic work to his name. There were parties and auctions from Gangnam to Hannam, and even in the clubs of Hongdae and Itaewon. To his name.

As Jungkook searched, it seemed like there was not much else to Seo Daeho but that. A name. There were no photographs, not even in Seoul U where he'd assumed there'd be a faculty profile, at least. There was a curriculum vitae of works published and exhibits mounted from his private collections. No photos. None at public lectures nor presentations. He was a professor but it didn’t seem like he actually taught much, there was no coursework under him that semester. He remembered the picture of Daeho that Namjoon showed them in that cafe basement. Well, where'd that come from, then? Also, how did he and Jimin meet if Jimin couldn't have been his student because he didn't even have a teaching load?

Speaking of students, what did exist were articles on Daeho's many ingenues. They hosted his events and amassed prestige and influence long before they graduated. _The Best and the Brightest_ , one title said. They were prodigies, savants and otherwise brilliant, beautiful young people, and it was easy to see how Jimin would fit in with them.

He tried looking for his hyung, whose pink hair was sure to stand out from the crowd, but he was hardly in any of them. Still, it wasn't Park Jimin's absence that was the most surprising thing about the photos. It was the presence of Kim Namjoon.

Jungkook took a tentative drag on his cigarette and watched the ember glow red in the dark. Ahead of him was a night sky punctured by tiny, distant lights not too different from the one at the end of the stick. Seoul, sleepless.

Jungkook blinked as he took in the image of a clearly underage, clearly intoxicated Kim Namjoon from one of the photographs. His gaze was glassy and there was a blissed out expression on his face. Teenage Namjoon looked like he was having the time of his life, a drink in one hand and a handsome boy in the other. Something around his neck caught Jungkook’s attention: a black stone that looked eerily familiar. He tried to reverse search the image, but it looked like it only existed in this obscure corner of the internet, buried deep in random data. From what he could see, it didn't look doctored either.

Jungkook searched some more and came upon a cache of articles on Kim Youngsik, former Minister of Education and his sudden (not to mention gruesome) death. Official channels declared it an abrupt but natural passing. Jungkook should’ve left it at that but he decided to look deeper and now he couldn’t sleep. Images of the old man stabbed and gutted swam before his closed eyes. There was so much of his blood on the floor that it turned the expensive carpet a bright cinnabar color. He checked the year and noted that that was also the last of any activity from Namu the hacker. The press was quiet.

Jungkook let out a puff of smoke, which dissipated without much effort in the cold air. He imagined it floating up and melding with the rest of Seoul's smog. Warmth spread through his chest and he thought about Jimin. He grabbed his phone and was about to contact Seokjin, but as he did, the device began to ring.

"Jungkook-ah, I'm sorry to bother you so late," the voice on the line was deep and raspy, like whoever it was who owned it had been yelling. Jungkook felt his stomach muscles tighten. "It's Namjoon-hyung, got your number from Taehyung."

"Oh, hyung, " he cleared his throat. "What's wrong?"

"We can't find Seokjin-hyung."

 _What_?

"What?"

"Taehyung and I haven't seen him all day," the other boy explained. Jungkook's brain went blank and into hyperdrive all at the same time. “And we thought he’d be home by now but we’re at his apartment and he’s not here.”

“Seokjin-hyung is missing?” he repeated the words, unsure if all this was actually happening.

“Well, we don't know that he's missing,” an even deeper voice piped up from the receiver. “Where are you, Jungkookie?” Taehyung did his best to sound nonchalant but the worry in his voice was evident, even over the phone.

“Erhm...” his eyes travelled so over the disorder of his room. “I'm at... home, I guess.”

“What d’you mean ‘you g—’”

“Sorry for bothering you so late,” Namjoon cut Taehyung off. “But can you help us? Is there a way for you to track his location?”

“Um,” Jungkook paused and stared at the photo of Teenage Namjoon on his screen, eyes hazy and drunk. Kim Namjoon, even younger than Jungkook was at the moment, looking smug and shit-faced and in a place he wasn’t supposed to be. Without much soul-searching, Jungkook understood how he’d get himself in that situation. He wondered if Seokjin-hyung knew. Jungkook supposed everyone had secrets.

“Jungkook-ah?” Namjoon’s disembodied voice snapped him out of his musings.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, ok, hyung,” he sputtered. “I can do that.” He called back a few minutes later with the information they needed, albeit limited by the fact that he only had Seokjin’s number and a general idea of the area where he could be. A signal pinged somewhere along Han River and although alarms sounded in Jungkook’s head, he tried to be calm when he told Namjoon. There was an edge in his hyung's voice when he thanked Jungkook and told him to stay put. The boy swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, which remained even as smoke caressed the sides of his tongue and hit the back of his throat.

Jungkook closed his eyes as a cold breeze blew against his face. The stick in his hand wasn’t even halfway finished but that familiar sense of calm was already settling in. Exactly what the hell was this that he was getting himself into? There was a giddy feeling at the bottom of his stomach that he’d felt only on a couple of instances recently. Specifically: the times he was with Park Jimin and the times when he knew he was going to see him.

He considered the implications of those feelings. He wasn’t dumb and he wasn’t one to be in denial of things, so he knew that he liked boys as much as he liked girls. That he’d known for a while now, Park Jimin’s existence optional. What bothered him more was the fact that Jimin would never think of him more than a dongsaeng. Even if they were the same age, in the grander scheme of things, Jungkook would still be no match to the likes of Seo Daeho. He sighed and glanced at the street below, which looked as lonely as Jungkook felt. But then, something purple and small walking down the street caught his eye.

Jungkook squinted. From his vantage point, he could see that the purple thing was actually a voluminous, pastel lilac fur coat that hung around a girl's shoulder. It reached down to the middle of her thigh where it met the top of her chunky white boots. He figured that it was a girl, considering her gait, which was quick yet graceful. She had a white newsboy cap over her long, peach-colored wig which swayed above her buttocks. She looked like she was going to a party.

She reminded him of someone.

For that reason, Jungkook stubbed the half-finished cigarette against a wall and allowed his feet to take him down the stairs. He only wanted a closer look, but when he reached the front door, the girl had already turned a corner. Without thinking and as if the wind blew him forward, he walked in her direction.

His boarding house was a late 80s three-storey redbrick structure in one of the soon-to-be-condemned sections of Mapo-gu. The neighborhood’s concrete streets were narrow and winding, peppered by random slopes and side streets. The buildings rose high on opposite sides, flanking the pavement and giving one the impression of being surrounded, making one feel small. Jungkook heaved as he scanned both sides of the street.

The Girl with Peach Hair moved faster than he expected. His heart thumped in his chest and in his ears, preventing his brain from processing how messed up this all was. Jungkook followed her, mesmerized by how the yellow street lamps bounced off her hair and cast it in a rose gold glow.

They reached the main street. He kept a fair distance from The Girl with Peach Hair, whose face he still hadn’t seen, but whose bearing was foreign and familiar at the same time. She paused near a street light and Jungkook ducked under a closed shop’s shadow to avoid being seen. This was getting very messed up. She raised a lithe hand and hailed a cab. Jungkook thought that would be the end of it but something prompted him to flag down a taxi, too. He asked the driver to follow suit.

“Seriously, kid?”

“It's a friend of mine I haven't seen in a while.” Lies. Everyone has secrets. “Just please follow that cab.”

The man shook his head before shifting gears and driving after taxi with The Girl with Peach Hair.

Jungkook fixed his eyes on the other vehicle. He tried to quiet the nagging voice in his head that kept asking why he was following a stranger around at this god-awful hour. Still, before he could let his conscience dwell, he felt the car pull over.

He glanced up and saw that they were in front of an austere building in Hongdae. It was about four floors high, painted black and windowless. Its only marking was a large, white circle, painted in the middle of the facade. Yet, there was a long line of people by the front door. The Girl stepped ahead of the crowd and in front of the doorman, who only gave her a curt nod before drawing the velvet rope for her to enter.

Jungkook tried to zip after her, following close, but the bouncer held up a large hand in front of him.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a gruff voice. As bouncers came, this one was especially bald and had a particularly thick neck.

"Oh, um, I'm with her, " Jungkook stammered, trying to lie but very unconvincingly.

"She's my f-friend."

"Yeah?" Baldie scoffed.

"Your friend sure went in fast, huh?"

"Yeah, she walks fast," Jungkook answered, impatience lingering at the edge of his voice.

"Mind if you show me your ID then, friend?" the bouncer sneered, and Jungkook felt an overwhelming urge to punch him in the kneecaps.

"Erhm, uh, I don't have it." It was the truth, anyway. He only realized that he'd forgotten his phone and wallet as he was paying for the cab. The crumpled up bills and handful of coins in his pockets were barely enough for the ride.

"Can't let you in, then," Baldie crossed his arms, then cocked his head. "Why don't you try the McDonald's down the street? I think they have a PlayPlace over there." Jungkook's ears burned and he'd have died of embarrassment if it wasn't for the floppy mess of hair covering them. His vision became hazy and he was about to say something very petty and hostile when--

"Jungkook?” Park Jimin, with long peach hair, full makeup and a tight sequined dress under the pastel purple coat, stood behind Baldie and regarded Jeon Jungkook as if he was the one who was odd and out of place. In a way, Jungkook supposed he was.

—-

Jimin remembers running.

The sun hung low on the horizon as they ran toward it, away from the foothill where he and his brother grew up. His small hand was clasped tightly in Jeongyeon’s as she led him through the thicket. Their knees were covered with bruises and cuts and his shoes had gotten soaked in the stream they’d just crossed. Still, it could not compare to his tears marking his face and the heaviness he felt in his heart.

" _Eomma_ , let's go back!" he half-sobbed and half-shouted. His skinny legs were bare under his dress, torn as it was from being caught in thorns and brambles. He kept his ears open, trying to listen to gunshots or shouting, but the last of those noises seemed to have faded some time ago.

“I have to get you out of here, Jiminie,” Jeongyeon panted. Her hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and she wiped away at her forehead with the back of her hand. The hand that held the Yarigyn pistol, slender fingers grasping the warm metal. Jimin knew the name because she taught it to him.

“But those bad men,” he wrestled out of her grip and planted his feet on the damp soil. “Eomma, we can't leave him. We have to go back!”

“I need to get you out of here first,” she answered with gritted teeth, grabbing his hand again. He tried to evade it, but she caught his small hand and held it firmly. The sky started to darken, and it felt like the silence threatened to close in and swallow him whole. Jimin fell to his knees and willed gravity to keep him on the ground, while big fat sobs escaped his chest.

“No!” he cried, and Jeongyeon bit her lower lip to keep herself from doing the same. She can't aim with tears in her eyes, can she? And then, they'd be truly dead. “No! No! No!” She covered her eyes and tried to breathe, but after a moment, she fell to the ground in front of Jimin. “Jimin,” she said.

“Jimin, look at me.” The boy lifted his eyes, fat teardrops clinging to the end of his eyelashes. “I need to get you out of here.”

Jimin was about to protest again when he noticed blood the color of warm crimson spreading on Jeongyeon’s side. “Eomma!” he only seemed to get more distraught, and Jeongyeon gave a mirthless laugh.

“You're just like her. Just like your mother,” her gaze was soft as she looked at him. "Stubborn, but you worry about others more than yourself,” Jeongyeon winced at the pain. She figured the adrenaline in her body was wearing off. It was a good thing that they’d made it that far.

“W-what am I supposed to do?” Jimin sniveled. He feels pathetic every time he remembers it. “I don't know what to do! I'm sorry I don't know what to do, I'm s-sorry—“

"Jimin-ah, " she lifted his chin and tried to get him to focus. "Your brother. He'll be fine, he's a smart boy and they won't hurt him. They won't, I promise. We're going to come back for him and find him, ok? We won't give up." Tears welled up in Jimin's eyes again. "Aish, where'd you get being a crybaby from? Ah, but anyway, Jiminie, we can cry later, too. Right now, " she used her thumb to wipe dirt and tears off his cheek. "Right now we have to go, ok? Will you be good for me and let me carry you?"

"No, eomma, " he shook his head and used the collar of his dress to dry his eyes. "I can walk. I will walk. I'm sorry for crying. I'll be good."

"You're always good, Jiminie," her smile was pained but genuine. “Like your dad, and brave like your mom. Let's go.” She took his hand and they made their way out of the wood.

\---

“Jeon Jungkook, what the heck are you doing here?” Jimin dragged Jungkook to the side of the imposing black building. A lock of Jimin’s peach hair grazed his arm, and the younger boy blinked to make sure he wasn't in a dream.

“What are _you_ doing here, hyung?” A few meters away, a cloud of telltale smoke floated from an alley. Jungkook cleared his throat a few times to quell the itch to go there. God knew this was more tension than he'd ever anticipated for the night. Jimin pinched his lips, the succulent sheen of gloss sitting on top of them melding together. He took a deep breath and opened parted these lips, but whatever it was that he was about to say was cut off by someone calling from the club’s back door.

“Yah, Momotaro-ya!” the voice was sweet, overly so, and Jungkook turned his head. Maybe he was dreaming. Or _maybe_ he’d died chasing Jimin across Mapo, because there was no way the two figures approaching them were of this earth and not angels or demons or some other sort of magical creature.

The first thing Jungkook noticed was how tall both of them were. As they approached, he noticed that the top of his own head only managed to reach their shoulders. Jungkook tried to console himself with the thought that he wasn’t done growing yet and they were wearing heels. He frowned at how childish he sounded.

Still, despite his annoyance, Jungkook found himself enthralled. Compared to them, Jimin looked underdressed. The first of them was made up and dressed in white, from her well-coiffed platinum hair to the cowboy boots on her feet. Their hair was adorned by white flowers, which looked like lilies though Jungkook was nowhere near knowledgeable enough to know for sure. The other wore a skintight black latex bodysuit splattered with paint, made to look like stars strewn across space. Jungkook realized he’d been referring to them as “she”, even though they were unlike any women (or men) he’d seen in his young life.

“Yah, shout louder so they can hear you all the way to Shanghai,” Jimin retorted as they arrived in front of them. “Last time I checked my name was Park Jimin, so you can quit it with the nickname. What are you guys doing out here?"

“Aww, but it suits you so much, tiny peach boy,” the one in black latex teased, and Jimin narrowed his eyes. The one in white responded with a sheepish smile and a look toward Jungkook. The two of them regarded him and Jimin with curiosity, making the youngest boy’s cheeks redden at the uninvited attention.

“Domina’s looking for you,” the one in white whispered. They bent down to peer at Jungkook’s face, so close that their noses almost touched and the younger boy was so nervous he didn't dare breathe. The fuzz of their lush fur shrug tickled Jungkook’s chin. The upper half of their face was painted completely white save for the eyelids, which were awash in gold and black. Layers of false eyelashes brushed ever so lightly against Jungkook’s cheeks, and he was able to see the golden cracks painted against the white surface. It reminded him of wabi-sabi bowls, broken things put back together and made more precious not in spite but because of the damage they'd survived.

“Shit,” Jimin muttered under his breath.

“Shit is right,” the one in black sighed, eyeing Jungkook. This one had a copper sunburst headdress on, with black hair done in a sleek, high bun. Dots and stars were drawn across the bridge of their nose against a backdrop of blue and purple. Their shoulders were broad and their biceps bulged against the latex, but as Jungkook’s eyes travelled down, he saw hips and curves and had to look away to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“You better stop calling her that before she hears you,” Jimin glanced toward the club door. "She doesn't like people calling me that either, or do you really want to get into more trouble?"

“Won’t be in as much trouble as you if Daeho sees you out here with this cutie,” the one in white said, voice low and flat. It caught Jungkook off guard. He started to feel the warm rush of blood to his ears and felt so relieved when they finally decided to back away. A slender white petal fell from their headdress and by instinct, Jungkook caught it in his palms. Their eyes lit up at the feat.

“Please, you’re being dramatic, Anie," the one in black gave a mirthless laugh but kept their eyes on Jungkook, who extended the hand holding the petal toward Anie.

“The flowers are beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” Anie smiled, doing a little curtsy as they received the petal. “Do you know what they are?” The boy shook his head. “They’re wildflowers from Mount Hwaya called _eolleji_. The Kumiho used to leave them after successful missions.”

“The what?”

“She doesn’t like those either,” Jimin intoned.

“Oh, shush,” the one in black waved her hand. “Can’t you see they’re having a moment? Anyway,” she straightened. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“No,” Jimin pronounced. Anie pouted and tugged on the other’s arm, gesturing to the alley.

“I’d have to introduce myself then,” the one in black stepped forward, but Jimin was quick to put his arm between them.

“Fine,” he sighed then paused and knotted his brows. “JK, meet Gigi Galaktik,” he motioned toward the one in black. “You've met Anie Mei,” the one in white gave him a slight nod.

“I-it’s nice to meet you,” Jungkook bowed his head low even though (because) he was completely unsure of the social protocol. His awkwardness must have shown, because Anie gave a half-suppressed laugh and Gigi looked at him like he was too precious. Jungkook turned to Jimin with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Honey, there’s no hierarchy among lumpen-intellectuals,” Gigi cooed, and Anie’s eyes glinted.

“Gigi studied at Seoul University,” Anie explained, with a certain dolefulness and reverence in their voice. “She studied there for seven years." They must have seen the surprised expression on Jungkook's face because they added, "Oh, don't worry, she finished it. Eventually. She fancies herself a kind of cerebral subversive because of it.”

“Cerebral subversive, my foot. We all know what kind of sub she is,” Jimin rolled his eyes and Gigi laughed out loud.

“And this cutie that’s making our Momo so sensitive?” Gigi retorted without missing a beat. She snaked an arm around Anie’s waist and they would've seen the blush on the latter’s face if not for the layers of thick white makeup there.

“This cutie is 17, so you will back all the way off, sweetie,” Jimin fluttered his eyelashes and Gigi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Shit.”

“Shit is right,” Anie closed their eyes, as if in solemn prayer.

“Ok, now you're being dramatic,” Jimin rolled his eyes. “Also, you're scaring the kid, stop it.”

“I’m not scared and I'm not a kid,” Jungkook muttered under his breath. All three of them turned to him, and again he found himself flustered by the attention. "Um," he stammered as he thought of something to say. "I like your outfit?"

"Baby," Gigi scoffed. "What makes you think these are outfits? What makes you think the center of the universe isn't my true form?" She made a big show of her clothes, preening and walking like she was on some sort of runway.

"OK, save it for the stage please," Jimin rolled his eyes again. "Shouldn't you two be going away already?"

“So sensitive," Gigi huffed. “You better head in soon, too, your daddy’s gonna be looking for you.” With a final smirk, she turned on her heel and walked toward the alley.

“He’s not my daddy!” Jimin called after her.

“That necklace says otherwise!” Gigi yelled back, laughing and pulling Anie closer.

“Momotaro?” Jungkook furrowed his brow, only a little less confused than before. He regarded Park Jimin in this alien landscape, in a sequined dress and makeup, and considered how even here, Jimin had no trouble fitting in.

“It’s a nickname Daeho gave me,” Jimin explained. Music blared from inside the building and, as usual, he seemed unaware of how people around them were staring. It wasn’t because of how he was dressed, as far as Jungkook could tell. Everyone else was in similar if not more outrageous clothes, trying to conform to the nonconformity. Yet, none of them seemed to belong there. None except for Jimin.

“Of course it is," Jungkook retorted.

“I sing at this club sometimes,” Jimin explained, light bouncing off the black stone around his neck and the golden shimmer on his cheeks. “It's where I met Daeho, actually. He's part-owner and his friend manages it. The one they call Domina. She doesn't call herself that.”

 _Of course not,_ Jungkook thought.

“Look,” Jimin fiddled with the black stone on his necklace. “I understand if you don’t want to hang out anymore.” He heaved a resigned sigh. “But, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone at school about this.”

“W-wait what?” Jungkook stammered, Jimin’s words snapping him out of his reverie. “I mean, ‘course I won’t tell anyone but...why can’t we hang out anymore?” Jimin’s expression softened. If anything, his face remained delicate despite the heavy makeup.

“Well, this is all kind of...much,” he fidgeted. “And I don't expect you to understand. I'm not really up for explaining it either.” Jimin’s gaze fell.

“Oh,” Jungkook mused. “Well,” his shoulders relaxed. “I'm not gonna to say that I understand everything, or even anything. But, like, what I do understand is that... I like hanging out with you.” Shit. ”I mean, if you'll let me. You're, like, my only friend here and I didn't even know that you sang.”

“You don’t know much about me, Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin kept his gaze low.

I’d like to, though, Jungkook thought it, but couldn’t say it out loud. He probably never would. Instead, he replied, “There’s plenty you don’t know about me either.”

“Really?” Jimin chuckled then. He gazed up at the younger boy and asked, “Like what?”

Jungkook opened his mouth and then closed it, his brain short-circuiting like it did on the last competition before he retired from TV quiz shows. It was an unpleasant feeling. He blinked several times, the answer “ _I’m part of a crew that’s planning to rob your boyfriend”_ just at the back of his skull, clamoring to get out. Jungkook tried to push it away, but then he instantly regretted what he'd blurted out next. “Like how I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Words. Clumsy. Graceless.

He expected Jimin to laugh, for his cheeks to turn red and to deflect Jungkook’s unexpected bout of candor. Instead, his hyung’s eyes grew somber. He stood there for another moment, before he began to walk away.

“Jimin-hyung?” Jungkook went after him, catching him by the wrist.

"I better get in now,” he muttered. He turned to the other boy and gave him a small smile. “Get home safely, Jungkook-ah."

"Hyung, wait," Jungkook held on to him. "Can I hear you sing?"

"Maybe some other time," Jimin broke free of Jungkook’s grip and reached out to pat the younger boy's head. "When you're not a baby anymore."

"Yah, you're still two inches shorter than me. How can you s--"

"Yah?" Jimin gave him a quick rap on the head. "I'm still older than you by two years, you punk." Jungkook glanced up and found him smirking, the flecks of gold on his cheek catching the light and making him glow despite the pensive look in his eyes. The smirk turned into a grin and in a moment, Park Jimin had turned on his heel and walked away. "Go home, Jungkookie," he called out before crossing the road and disappearing behind the club door.

Jungkook stood there for a while, though he didn't know why, or what he was waiting for. Jimin was gone, or at least for the moment the Jimin he knew seemed to be. For the first time since he came, he paused and took in his surroundings. Daeho’s building was off the main streets of Hongdae where it was a lot less crowded. The people here were more upper crust as their clothes and their cars made obvious. They were near the top of a hill and from where he stood Jungkook had a clear view of the Hongik University College of Fine Arts sign, bright and unwavering.

“You should listen to her, you know,” Jungkook jumped at the deep sound of someone’s voice behind him. He turned and it was Anie, taking a tin of mints out from the collar of their dress.

“Her?” his brows knitted as Anie put a mint in their mouth. Jungkook scanned the area for Gigi, but it seemed that she was still in the alley.

“Jimin,” they cocked their head toward the direction of the club. Heavy electronic beats reverberated through the walls. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like calling Jimin ‘she’ is the strangest thing,” Anie replied. Their gaze, unhurried and thoughtful, returned to the club door.

“Especially when I'm right here,” said another voice. Gigi sauntered toward them and held out a hand to Anie, who placed a small mint in her palm. “So, that brat Jimin really didn't introduce us properly, did she?” She smirked and Anie turned quiet beside her. “I mean, you already know us. What's your name?”

“Uhm,” Jungkook considered giving a fake name for a few seconds. He decided against it.“My name is Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” Anie considered the name like she was turning it over in her mind.

“Right, our Jungkookie,” Gigi gave him a cordial smile. “Well then. I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, though I sincerely hope we do not.” The smile on her face didn’t fade as she passed him.

“It was nice to meet you,” Anie leaned close, the familiar smell of burnt tobacco wafting toward Jungkook. They glanced back at Gigi and for a split-second he thought he saw something familiar in their eyes. An unmistakable and familiar ache.

Once again, Jungkook stood there, watching someone he barely knew walk away. The ache in his chest was there, like somehow these brief encounters had managed to burrow their way deep in his heart, only to leave him bitter and lonely and always on the outside when the ones that caused them inevitably left. He was about to turn and go home, unsure of exactly how now that he was penniless and cold, when he heard a harsh sound come from the direction of the club door.

Jungkook blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining the door inch open and looked on both sides of the street before approaching. He pulled the hood over his head as soon as he saw the security cameras mounted on the wall and gave himself a pat on the back for remembering what Yoongi said. There was a brick between the doorframe and the door, keeping it ajar. He poked his head in to see who’d done it, but whoever did was already long gone. The back hall was empty. Jungkook took in a sharp breath and stepped inside.

The club’s walls vibrated with music, keeping time with the thumping in Jungkook’s ribcage. Now and then, he'd get spooked that an employee or bouncer would come upon him sneaking around the back halls, but it appeared that this part of the building was truly empty. He made his way forward until he arrived in front of a door with a nondescript sign beside it. Jungkook used his phone flashlight to see it better.

 _Onnagata_.

His brows knotted but before he could do anything else, the sounds of quickly approaching conversation made him take shelter in the shadows, fumbling to turn his light off.

"Have you found Jimin?" he heard a male voice, deep and steady, not much older than Jungkook's own father.

"Yes, Professor Seo," said another voice, almost too soft that Jungkook couldn't hear. It sounded like a woman. "She's on stage right now."

"Did CEO Won arrive?" the voices grew steadily closer, and Jungkook closed his eyes to try and calm the pounding in his chest, so loud he was afraid that they would hear.

"Yes, Professor Seo," the woman answered again. "Hui escorted him inside. He appears to be already intoxicated."

"Nothing new," the man dismissed the information. "You would think he'd shape up after the break-in at his company. Anyway," they stopped only steps away from where Jungkook was hiding, and the boy held his breath. By that time, he was sure that it was Seo Daeho, in the very flesh. "It will be easy, then. Make sure Jimin is prepped and taken to him as soon as possible. Sedate him if necessary."

Jungkook felt sick to his stomach. Was this really the type of person that Jimin was with? How can he talk about him like he was some object to be put on loan? What was he talking about, sedating him?

"But, Daeho-ssi," the woman seemed to stop just in time for Jungkook's heart to jump up his throat.

"Yes, Mina-san?"

"Wouldn't it be better if he was conscious? That way he'll better remember to whom he belongs."

"Ah," Daeho mused. "Never one to miss an opportunity." He paused, considering her suggestion. "Very well, do as you see fit."

“With pleasure,” she replied, and Jungkook heard the door to Onnagata open and close. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't stay there, crouching in the dark like some frightened child. Jimin was in trouble, or he was going to be, if Jungkook didn't do anything. Mustering his courage, he got up from his knees and reached for the knob, only to find that there wasn't one.

“Who's there?” a voice asked and it took no time for him to locate the speaker from where it came. There were probably security cameras here, too. Shit. Did they see him hide? If they did, they would've called him out earlier, or else called security, right? Since whoever it was that was behind the door was still asking, he supposed they didn't.

“Uh,” he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “My name's JK and, um, I’m with Blackbill Ent. CEO Won forgot something and I'm supposed to bring it to him.”

“You're not carrying anything,” the voice said matter-of-factly. Oh, so there were cameras. Fuck.

“Yeah, um, it’s his phone,” Jungkook whipped out his own phone and held it up even though he had no idea where the camera was. “He forgot it at my place, you know...” his voice trailed, trying to make it clear that he shouldn't be kept hanging around in the open.

“If you're not on the list, I can't let you in,” the voice was gruff, but it did sound like JK’s ruse was working a bit, judging by the change in the person’s tone. Jungkook took in an even breath and prepared to let loose what he’d learned from years of being a child star. It was embarrassing but effective, and right now he didn’t have much else. He was going to whine.

He was about to do it, too, if not for the muffled conversations that came from the other side of the door. Jungkook paused and listened, and it was followed by a loud click that echoed in the empty hall.

"Listen, kid, I gotta let people out," the person at the door told him as he opened it. The doorman wasn't as old as Jungkook expected, his bare arms were covered in tattoos and he had long hair that covered most of his face. Jungkook stepped back, farther into the shadow, and waited to see who would exit.

It was Jimin, behind two other men that Jungkook found vaguely familiar. One was a paunchy man in his 60s that Jungkook assumed was that creepy CEO Won from Blackbill and the other was the rust-haired guy that Jungkook and Yoongi saw outside the library. JK waited for others to emerge but no one else came, and the tattooed man disappeared behind the door once again.

Jimin kept his gaze down and walked silently, like a child doing as they're told, but he looked alright for the most part. Jungkook waited until they were a good distance away before tailing them, doing his best to look casual in case there were cameras watching here, too. The four of them walked through halls and up staircases, the muted sound of EDM filtering through the walls. No one spoke, and every step Jungkook took felt like it was made of lead.

Finally, they reached a series of hallways littered by people, where the music seemed to grow louder and Jungkook didn’t need to tiptoe around as much. Some of them were dancing or otherwise drinking, talking over the music and trying to score. Jimin, CEO Won and the rust-haired man climbed up a flight of stairs that appeared to end at a landing, so Jungkook waited. There was a good-sized crowd milling around him, and he did his best to blend in.

“Ah, I knew we would see each other again,” in a moment, Jungkook found himself in front of Gigi Galaktik, pushed against the stairway wall. “I didn’t count on it being so soon, though. Didn’t Jimin say you were 17?” she tutted, the dots and stars on her face hypnotizing. She had a drink in one hand and was swaying to the music, latex hips pressed against Jungkook’s, making a warmth spread there that made him nervous.

“I j-just wanted to hear J-Jimin-hyung s-sing,” he stammered.

“Yeah? And how’d that go?” she had a glazed expression on her face but it didn’t stop her from teasing him about locked doors and tattooed doormen. “Did Dooho let you in?”

“N-no,” he jabbed his tongue against his cheek by habit, then corrected himself. Gigi tossed her head back and laughed. Somebody almost got poked by one of her sunbeams.

“You should’ve told me,” she said. “I wouldn’t’ve used all my quaaludes. Those are his FAY-vorite.” She giggled.

“Where’s Anie?”

“On stage,” Gigi answered, her deep, melodious voice rising over the din. Jungkook listened closer and tried to hear Anie but his mind was distracted by the rust-haired man descending the stairs, coming toward them. He spared Jungkook and Gigi a cold glance, sharp to the point of cutting. Jungkook suppressed the shiver running up his spine.

“Hello, Hui-hyung,” Gigi seemed to sober up for a second, more flustered and less confident. The other man looked at her, and it seemed like his gaze softened, or at least that’s what Jungkook thought. He gave them both a once-over before taking the drink from Gigi’s hand and slightly nodding his rust-colored head, which appeared more rose-golden under the club lights. He walked away at a measured pace, parting the crowd as he did.

“Who was that?” Jungkook didn’t expect to feel shy as he took Gigi’s gaze away from the man. On her part, Gigi looked like she‘d been shaken from a daydream and addressed Jungkook like she was floating.

“Oh, that’s Hui,” she said, as if it was any explanation. “He's the head of security around here. Doesn’t talk much,” she mused. “Which, actually, makes him ten times as hot.”

“Oh-kay,” if he wasn’t so anxious about Jimin, he would have found Gigi’s fondness charming. “Listen,” he cocked his head in the direction of the dark landing where Jimin had disappeared to. It looked like a poorly-lit hall with a series of doors on each side.

“I need to know where Jimin is. He’s in danger.”

“Hah!” Gigi burst out in a loud cackle that made those nearest to them turn their heads. “ _He’s_ , I mean, _she’s_ in danger? Honey, we’re all in danger.”

“No, I’m serious, he’s in real danger,” Jungkook pinched his lips. “Just tell me where he goes, Gigi, please.”

Gigi regarded him with curiosity, though the younger boy wasn’t sure if she was entirely there. Another second passed and her expression lifted, like she’d remembered something from long ago.

“Have we met before?”

“What?” Jungkook’s brows creased. The music was beginning to get louder, and thunderous applause could be heard from a distance.

“Yeah, we met outside the club.”

“No, no,” she shook her head. “Like, before that.”

“What? No,” Gigi wasn’t making any sense and Jungkook was losing his patience. “We’ve never met before.”

“But the way you looked just now,” Gigi continued to reason. “It was so familiar—“

“Gigi, please,” he pleaded, music ringing in his ears and making his heart pound. Knocking on each door didn’t seem so bad now, if it meant saving Jimin from that creep.

“Last door on the left,” Anie’s voice was flat but clear as day amidst the chaos. They wrapped their arms around Gigi, who looked confused and bewildered. “We told you to go home.”

“Yeah, right after this,” Jungkook said. “Thanks.”

The hallway was illuminated only by the exit sign on the end of it, which to Jungkook seemed like a beacon, guiding him to his hyung. He stood before the door and steadied his breath, glancing toward Gigi and Anie, only to see that they‘d disappeared.

There he stood, and for a brief moment of self-consciousness, he realized that he did a lot of standing around doing nothing. Pathetic. He was pathetic, no wonder they all treated him like a child. No wonder Jimin was here in this place instead of with him, safe and sound—-

A soft cry came from the room and alarms sounded in Jungkook’s head. He rattled the doorknob, which was of course locked, and called out for Jimin. He banged on the wooden door with his open palm, until people began to notice. Customers from other rooms stepped out to see what the commotion was about, but Jungkook didn’t care. Before he knew it, adrenaline started to take his body over, and the door began to give way under him, and he stumbled into the room.

Jimin dropped the syringe in his hand.

He wasn’t the one to being sedated. Jungkook stared open-mouthed as he witnessed his hyung, in his tight dress and wig, stand over CEO Wong. The old man lay on the couch of the private room, doped up and stupid, sleeves rolled up and a tourniquet tied around his arm. Jimin faced Jungkook, his plush lips parted in surprise, but his eyes were cold like Hui’s.

“Jungkook, what the f—“

Before Jimin could finish his sentence, Jungkook felt an arm wrap around his neck. All at once, his knees gave out and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even feel the floor beneath him. Everything became blurry, and Jungkook became vaguely aware that he was being lifted in the air. His feet dangled uselessly as he struggled. Jimin’s figure, once perfect and pristine, began to get smaller and smaller. Jungkook realized it was because he was being carried out of the club.

The cold wind hit him first before Hui’s fist did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, prewriting JK chapters always seem to make me wanna go back to canonical literature. Anyway! This chapter felt like a bildungsroman, ache of first love kind of thing and was inspired/informed by themes in the following:
> 
> "Araby" by James Joyce  
> "Bread of Salt" by NVM Gonzales  
> "Wicked Girl" by Isabel Allende  
> "Tale of a Strange Marriage" from A Collection of Beauties at the Height of Their Popularity by Whitney Otto
> 
> I'm curious to know what y'all think.
> 
> Again, [tweet](https://twitter.com/zaemitgettau) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta) and [ko-fi](https://kofi.com/zaemitgetta). ^-^
> 
> Pentagon Comeback on 02.12!  
> BTS Comeback on 02.21!


	10. you come to me blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi’s pale skin seemed to glow a spectral blue-gray under the fading light of the moon, the final vestiges of darkness yet unwilling to let the city go from its grasp. Seokjin waited for regret to come over him, because in normal circumstances, Min Yoongi would’ve been the last person he’d call in an emergency. The feeling never came. Instead, he was relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I’m finally updating!! AAAHHHHH!!! I feel really bad about how long it took for me to update, but I guess it’s a hard time for everyone. Thank you for the comments and kudos, they really help me stay on track. 
> 
> Brief recap! Last chapter, JK started digging information on Seo Daeho and Park Jimin, and in the process finds a photograph of an underaged and shit-faced Kim Namjoon with a pretty boy on his arm at one of Daeho’s parties. He also found out that Namjoon’s grandpa was murdered and on the night of his death, Namjoon ran away. He also catches sight of a Girl with Peach Hair walking down the street and against his better judgment follows her aaaaalllll the way to Hongdae where it turns out that [surprise!] it’s actually Jimin in drag. Jimin talks to him but also tells him to go home since you know…he’s underaged himself, but he doesn’t and then he discovers Jimin drugging a CEO (the one that NamGi stole the Seo Taiji tapes from) and Hwitaek beats him up. He also met the fabulous Anie Mei and Gigi Galaktik, played (?) by Pentagon’s Yan An and Ko Shinwon, my babies. The chapter before that, Jin got caught shoplifting but was released in the middle of the night with no money and phone battery, so he has to call someone but he can’t call his boyfriends because…angst. Anyway! This is for all my Yoonjinists, especially Niqui, to whom this chapter is dedicated. I went waaaay over word count, too, which I hope you all will enjoy. There’s also a LOT of Pentagon cameos, hehe.
> 
> Thank you to Quinn, my wonderful, talented, intelligent, beautiful beta reader! <3
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, [tweet](https://twitter.com/zaemitgettau) or find me on [Curious Cat](curiouscat.me/zaemitgetta). I also have a [ko-fi](https://kofi.com/zaemitgetta) now, if you're so inclined to leave me a tip. ^-^
> 
> Yoongi’s character trailer is up and in HD! Find it [here](https://youtu.be/soSdLFyyMOc).
> 
> A few more things! Happy May Day! Don’t cross the picket line! Workers of the World, Unite! And happy third anniversary to 365 Fresh, thank you to Triple H for getting me into this hellhole. I wouldn’t change it for the world.
> 
> [carrd](https://ilpal-ilsam-sampal.carrd.co) | [Trailer](https://twitter.com/zaemitgetta/status/1163112995041398784) |  Visual Thread

The sound of Yoongi’s motorcycle sputtering to a halt broke Seokjin’s steady gaze on the Han River. Lights from the bridge, and the city in general, bounced off the wrinkles on the water’s face, making it sparkle in the very early dawn. He sat on a cold wooden bench some distance away from the riverbank, just outside a 24-hour convenience store with a big ad for ramen plastered in the front. He tried not to think of how hungry he was and how good a bowl of hot soup and noodles. The din of the river rushing perpendicular to Seoul’s predawn traffic helped.

He sucked a harsh breath in as Yoongi approached. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was bracing himself for. By all intents, he was still older (even if it was only by three months) so he knew that Yoongi wouldn’t dare complain or refuse the request of picking him up and taking him home. Even if it was at this god-awful hour, even if it _was_ somewhere along this considerably-sized river. Still, they didn’t exactly have the best rapport and to no one was this more evident than the two of them.

Yoongi’s pale skin seemed to glow a spectral blue-gray under the fading light of the moon, the final vestiges of darkness yet unwilling to let the city go from its grasp. Seokjin waited for regret to come over him because in normal circumstances, Min Yoongi would’ve been the last person he’d called in an emergency. The feeling never came. Instead, he was relieved. He guessed there was nothing normal about the circumstances of his life for the past 22 years.

Seokjin kept his eyes forward as Yoongi sat beside him. Now that he was here, well, Seokjin realized he hadn’t thought that far into what would happen, considering they weren’t exactly the best of friends.

“Hey,” the characteristic—familiar—nonchalance of Yoongi’s voice provided an odd, unexpected comfort. 

“Hey,” he said back. Silence. Somewhere, Seokjin could hear birds chirping. There was a freshness to the air he inhaled, not heavy like he’d thought it would be. Calm. 

They sat together like that for a few minutes, still and noiseless in the half-light, until Seokjin felt something nudge at his arm. He looked down and saw Yoongi holding a plastic bag, offering it to him without so much as a sideways glance. Seokjin took it and knew immediately that it was a bag more precious than manna from heaven. Jellies. Chewy, sweet, colorful gummy bears and konjac jellies in a multitude of flavors. He felt like he could kiss the other boy if it wouldn’t be so weird afterward.

“Yah, Yoongi-yah,” his voice came out gushier than he’d expected. “Thank you—“

“It’s nothing,” Yoongi replied curtly, then turned to Jin with a small smile to show he wasn’t mad. It looked a bit weird, but at the moment, Seokjin wasn’t about to be picky. Yoongi peered far into the distance, past the river and the highway, zeroing in on a sliver of clear sky where Seokjin expected the sun to peek through in a little while. “So, what happened?” 

“I got arrested,” Seokjin disclosed, as coolly as he could, matching Yoongi’s demeanor. Carefully, like he was unwrapping a priceless piece of art or a rare antiquary, he began to dig into his candy. The first burst of sugar felt like sparks shooting up to his brain, and he felt instantly better.

“Oh.”

He sensed Yoongi squint _ever_ so slightly at the information. Seokjin waited for Yoongi to scoff at him and say he was unbelievable. How irresponsible he was. What a stupid, irresponsible, _stupid_ , rich boy.

“What for?” Yoongi said instead. Seokjin observed him from the corner of his eye. His expression remained stoic, vision still fixed on that fragment of sky now turning a dark purple-red.

“Shoplifting,” he didn’t expect how small his voice would be when he answered. Like the shame of his actions bore down on his chest and restricted the passage of air. 

“Hmm,” Yoongi sounded amused for a quick second. Then before they both knew it, his head dipped and his shoulders shook. He was laughing. Seokjin’s eyes widened as the refrain of Yoongi’s laughter shattered the morning’s quiet. For some reason, Seokjin couldn’t remember if he’d ever heard Yoongi laugh like that. His voice was loud and clear and strangely soothing after the night he’d had.

“Yah,” he cried out, feigning the outrage required of him as the older of the two. He wasn’t in any position to truly be mad. Out of all the people in Seoul, after all, _he_ called _Yoongi_ , and this wasn’t the worst reaction he could’ve gotten. “Yah!” he repeated. The younger boy rubbed at his eyes to stop himself from cackling.

“Sorry,” he sobered up in a moment but the stupid, gummy smile on his face stayed and Seokjin had a sudden urge to punch him. Not out of malice, he noted, but because there was this unfamiliar feeling rising up in him that he felt the need to quash. Fondness? He decided against doing anything at all, figuring one visit to the police station was enough. “That’s hilarious. Shoplifting,” Yoongi clicked his tongue. “How’d you get out?” 

“They let me out,” he answered. Yoongi stretched his skinny arms and Seokjin noticed the dark color under his eyes. He looked closer and saw the traces of little red love bites running down Yoongi’s nape and back. Well, he thought, at least _one_ of us had a good night.

“Of course they did,” Yoongi didn’t even hide the sneer that cut through his face. _Ah, here we go._

“I was there for hours doing nothing,” he whined, remembering the mall security guard who detained him. “The police in this town are _fucking_ incompetent. They would’ve let you go, too.”

“They would’ve let _me_ rot,” the sneer devolved into a snort of derision. He glanced at Seokjin and gave his plush camel coat and Rolex a once-over. To be fair, he’d also been thinking it was a wonder he didn’t get mugged that night. Then again, muggings were a rarity in Seoul nowadays. The best thieves did their stealing in the comfort of their government offices.

Still, Yoongi’s words stung. Seokjin would have wanted to argue but he was already spent from the long night. His stomach clenched and he waited for the inevitable waning of Yoongi’s cordial mood, remembering the day they first met. The day he saw Namjoon again, standing in the middle of a Rothko exhibit at the Leeum, a year after he disappeared from the Daenamu estate in Ilsan. Yoongi stood beside him then, eyeing Seokjin with characteristic disdain. Seokjin found it charmingly droll. If he was being honest, he was too happy about seeing Namjoon again to pay Yoongi any mind. Right away, he asked the younger Kim to go with him on a two-hour drive to Jumunji Beach, in the middle of the night, without telling Yoongi. Seokjin remembers how he scowled when they came back the next day tracking sand all over their tenement studio apartment. It was half the size of Seokjin’s walk-in closet and it, too, was charmingly droll.

“Is this a regular thing?” Yoongi’s throaty morning voice took Seokjin out of his reverie. 

“The getting caught?” he replied. “No. The shoplifting? Only when I’m stressed.” 

“I didn’t know having two boyfriends was that stressful.”

“Listening to you talk is stressful.”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who called me.” Seokjin saw Regret waving from a distance.

“You usually don’t talk so much.”

“That why they’re not here but I am?” 

Seokjin was silent for a while then, looking out to the patch of sky that Yoongi had been so intent on observing only a few minutes ago.

“I didn’t want to worry them,” he replied finally, biting the inside of his cheek. “Namjoon’s got…enough on his mind.” He sighed as he said this, careful not to overstep. It was already weird that he called Yoongi here. He didn’t blab about secrets that weren’t his to tell in the first place.

“He wouldn’t have so much on it if he learned how to share,” Yoongi’s lips began to protrude outward into a pout. Normally, Seokjin would find that very cute but right now, it sounded very somber and serious. A faint whiff of vanilla floated from where Yoongi sat (which was not very far at all now that Seokjin noticed), mixed somewhat unceremoniously with motorcycle fumes. 

“He’s not exactly the sharing type,” Seokjin replied out loud, only mildly amused. On the way to Jumunji Beach and the entire time they were there, Namjoon carried on like they’d seen each other only the day before. Like the afternoon under the camphor tree, the game of _seotda_ , Taehyung pelting Seokjin with berries and chasing him into the pond, Taehyung kissing Seokjin on the grass, happened only the day before that. Like his grandfather, the one he loved and who doted on him, was still alive fussing over bonsai trees and restoring ancient books at the Daenamu estate and not, well, dead. For his part, Seokjin carried on like he hadn’t heard the whispers among the Yeoldu of this hyper-intelligent, stuttering darling grandson possibly snapping and doing the killing himself.

Yet, seeing Namjoon that day was like seeing a ghost. A tan, six-foot-tall ghost surrounded by abstract impressionist art which paled in comparison to his presence. To be fair, the art was all black and gray and _very_ depressing, but still. 

“No kidding,” Yoongi scoffed. He scanned the surface of the river, now mirroring the hazy blue of Seoul’s sky. Quiet again. He seemed especially pensive today, but Seokjin let him have his thoughts. As for himself, he still hadn’t decided if he was ready to go home and face the two other Kims who were probably waiting for him there. “Hey,” the other boy seemed to shift gears. “He ever tell you about the day we met?”

Seokjin blinked. No, he hadn’t. The extent to which Namjoon introduced Yoongi to Seokjin was as his roommate and post-Yeoldu friend, though it was obvious that he was very fond of this hyung. It was Yoongi who did the actual jobs, after all, while Namjoon came up with the targets and the plans. Yoongi was the operator. Namjoon, the thinker. Seokjin? He was more of an enabler and the overall logistics guy. He glanced at Yoongi and saw that an answer was expected, so he shook his head. 

“We were at this rest stop right outside Sejong City,” Yoongi paused to look at him, and Seokjin furrowed his brow. “You know what a rest stop is, right?”

“Of course, I know!” Seokjin exclaimed. The idea of dried squid and soda that was usually sold at those places made his mouth water involuntarily. “What do you take me for? Of course I know what a rest stop is, punk.”

“Was just making sure,” Yoongi shrugged, not minding Seokjin’s outburst one bit. “The hell I know if rich folks went to rest stops. Well, middle-class people do, anyway. Don’t know if _Yeoldu_ rich people went. For all I know, you had people who had snacks and went to the bathroom for you when you went on trips. I dunno.”

“Shut up,” Seokjin warned, though still in his good natures. “Jeez, _I_ didn’t know you were a fucking talker in the morning.”

“I had a good night, what,” he responded. There was always a hint of smugness in the raspy way Yoongi articulated his words and Seokjin used to find it so grating. Not this morning, though. “Soohyun was, I don’t know, 13 or something.” Seokjin nodded. He knew about Park Soohyun.

After he moved the Rothko (which took a while because it was his first time), the three of them gathered at what would be the future Calico Moon to divide the money. Namjoon was very direct about giving Yoongi the biggest cut. Seokjin raised an eyebrow but didn’t say more because he trusted Namjoon implicitly. Yoongi, not so much. Then. Later, when they were alone in his Gangnam apartment, Seokjin did his best to mention this as casually as possible, but Namjoon looked at him like he was made of glass. He finished pulling a hoodie over his head and then told Seokjin about a blind girl named Park Soohyun in Sejong City. She was pretty much Yoongi’s younger sister, he said, and they left her because they had to. Namjoon’s uncle (the leftist one, the one who left for college and then never came back) worked at a halfway house there, but the separation didn’t go as well as they hoped. Which is to say, Soohyun felt completely betrayed and told Yoongi never to speak to her again. Yoongi sent money to her and to the orphanage in Daegu where they grew up, but he thought he was keeping this a secret to Namjoon. Seokjin looked at him and marveled at how you wouldn’t know he had that kind of a heart by looking at the outside of him. 

“Yah, why do you only serve aglio olio pasta at the Calico Moon anyway?” he’d interrupted Yoongi’s story, which earned him an annoyed glare. 

“My hyung taught me,” Yoongi answered. “He used to work at a repacking facility for olive oil and where we grew up, there used to be a garlic farm we’d do _seori_ * in—“ his brows furrowed.

“YES, I KNOW WHAT _SEORI_ IS!” Jin exclaimed, but Yoongi only chuckled. 

“Anyway,” he tried to get back on track. “So we’ve lost the cops chasing us, but Namjoon still wouldn’t say anything.” Seokjin blinked and did his best to focus. He reached into the bag of jellies and realized that he’d eaten everything, and yet, he was beginning to feel drowsy. Yoongi kept talking. “So, Soohyun and I start walking home, which was in one corner of this bus graveyard at the foot of a hill, near some trees. The boys called it Dawn Town because it’s at the top of this hill where the sun would rise.”

“The boys?” Seokjin asked. He’d heard of Dawn Town before, but with not much detail. It was kind of nice hearing Yoongi talk like this, without all the smirks and eye rolls exchanged between them.

“Yeah, we lived there with a few others,” Yoongi explained. “Hyung, are you OK?” he paused and Seokjin did his best to look alert despite the fact that his eyes were starting to feel heavy. Yoongi must’ve gotten sugar-free gummies, or else Seokjin’s tolerance for sweets had started to go down with age. The other boy shook his head. “Of course you’re not OK, you got arrested. And here I am telling this long-ass story. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Seokjin brushed him off, but as he said this he felt an incredible tiredness settle down on him. “I’m fine. But can I just,” he let out a soft exhale and looked down on Yoongi’s shoulder, which all of a sudden looked very inviting. “Can I rest my eyes a little bit?”

“Here?” Yoongi’s brows raised, following Seokjin’s gaze on his shoulder.

“Do you prefer me on your lap?”

Yoongi tensed.

“I’m kidding, man, sheesh,” Seokjin said with a straight face. “May I? Or may I not?”

“Lemme just take you home,” the wrinkle on Yoongi’s brow got deeper and his lips became poutier. He _was_ kind of cute, Seokjin mentally conceded, but he really just wanted to rest his head.

“A little bit later,” his head began to droop, but he didn’t let it fall completely, still waiting for the other boy to tell him if it was OK. 

“Fine,” Yoongi sighed and Seokjin lay a temple on Yoongi’s bony shoulder. “But if you fall asleep, I’m calling your boyfriends because my arm’ll probably die from the weight of your fat ego.”

“Fine, though,” Seokjin chuckled. “I protest. I do _not_ have a fat ego.” He settled deeper, adjusting the way he leaned on the other young man. “Tell me the story.”

Yoongi let out a sigh, no doubt taking a few moments to wonder how on earth he got into this situation. “Anyway,” he said again. Seokjin closed his eyes but was very determined not to fall asleep. “Where was I? Dawn Town. We start walking home, and Namjoon’s still following us like some lost puppy, and it’s getting on my nerves, you know?”

“Mhmm,” the older boy responded. It was getting warmer now. He felt a sunbeam land on his jaw, and that faint vanilla scent wafted from Yoongi’s shirt again. It was nice, but he shouldn’t—mustn’t—fall asleep.

“Because he still hasn’t said a single word,” Yoongi continued. “and also because Dawn Town wasn’t some charity, you know. It wasn’t this kids’ _utopia_ , even though Dawnie said everyone was welcome as long as we could get along.” He said this with a healthy dose of wistfulness in his voice. “Like, he’d adopt any stray dog or cat that came along until there was no food and we started hijacking pet store delivery vans.” Yoongi kept talking, which by and by felt like he was reading a bedtime story. He’d told Seokjin not to fall asleep, but his tone was exactly that of someone trying to get someone to bed. “We kept having to move to different parts of the yard so we wouldn’t get caught. Obviously, we were taking care of ourselves out there like some damn kids on _The Lord of the Flies_.”

“You know the _Lord of the Flies_?” Seokjin murmured, interrupting him.

“Yeah, I know _Lord of the Flies_ ,” he replied, much in the same tone of the older boy earlier. “What do you take me for?” Seokjin found himself grinning. “Whenever Namjoon got enough money, or if there was a library where we were, we’d hang out there. Libraries are nice.”

“Mhmm,” Seokjin hummed again. “You must find this job very interesting, then.”

“Not really,” he replied. “The library at your university looks really nice. I’m kind of…I don’t know. I don’t know if we should even do this job.”

“Why not?” Seokjin asked, his brows knotting slightly as his head lay on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Well, for one, your boyfriend is being really shady about it,” Yoongi sighed. “And don’t even try to cover for him. I know there are things he hasn’t told me. The thing is, I don’t even _want_ to know. It’s just annoying.” For some reason, Yoongi’s ranting seemed to lull Seokjin more into sleep. It was more comforting than any bedtime story, and so he struggled more to stay awake.

“Namjoon loves you,” he blurted out. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. Once more, he felt Yoongi buckle under him, and he clarified, “I mean, he looks up to you, you know? He’s told me about how you and Soohyun took care of him, and how sorry he was that you had to leave her, but Yoongi-yah.” He paused, chasing consciousness. “You were all kids then.” His voice slurred and he found it impossible to hold on to wakefulness. 

When he woke up a half-hour later, the sun shone high in the sky and he was sticky with sweat. He was curled up on the bench, and instead of Yoongi’s shoulder, he lay on the other boy’s bunched up jacket. He blinked and looked around, his head still very much surrounded by the cloud of sleep.

“Hiya, sleepy-hung,” someone said near his feet. Seokjin got up to see who it was and saw Kim Taehyung sitting on the grass. “You have a nice nap?”

“Yeah,” he answered as he got up. Taehyung wore a gray tracksuit and looked like he’d been out on a run, but the bags under his eyes told Seokjin that he’d been up all night. He munched on something from a brown paper bag in his hands and Seokjin’s hunger came back in full force. “Bunggeo-ppang?” he asked.

“Bungeo-ppang,” Taehyung grinned, bringing the bag to his hyung. He beamed at the satisfied expression on Seokjin’s face as he bit into a piece, and rubbed his palm against one of his hyung’s knees to comfort him.

“Where’s Yoongi?” Seokjin asked, and the younger boy pointed his chin toward the river. At a distance and out of earshot, two figures stood at the riverbank. One was clad in black while the other, taller, figure wore a familiar, long fisherman’s coat. They looked like they were talking about something very serious. Seokjin turned to Taehyung, whose long legs stretched out on the grass, toes wriggling against the blades. Seokjin glanced around for his shoes and couldn’t see them. “Taehyung-ah,” he said, and the other boy turned to him. “I’m sorry.”

Taehyung paused like he was thinking. “It’s alright, hyung,” he smiled. It made Seokjin’s heart warm but it also cut through him like a blade. “The important thing is you’re safe,” Taehyung added. He turned his gaze back at the two figures speaking by the edge of the river. Seokjin followed suit and they were quiet for a little bit, watching them.

“But hyung,” Taehyung’s voice broke the comfortable silence between them.

“Yeah?”

“We need to go get Jungkook,” he said, his voice calm as a summer sea. Before Seokjin could ask why, Taehyung continued, “He got beaten up bad. He’s at the hospital.”

* * *

By the time Jeon Jungkook woke up at the hospital, it was already morning.

_“Shouldn’t we keep him awake or something?”_

The scent of gauze and antiseptic hit him first, and that was how he knew that he was in a hospital. He didn’t recognize the voice he heard, but it was oddly familiar and sounded like it came from close by.

“I don’t know. I’ll call a nurse.” Jimin. That was Jimin’s voice. So, he was here. _That jerk._

Jungkook heard the rattle of curtain rings along a metal rod, and then Jimin was gone again. He took a moment before opening his eyes (well, eye, the one that wasn’t swollen shut at the moment). The last thing he remembered was that guy Hwitaek putting him in a chokehold after what felt like a good fifteen minutes of fighting. A crowd had gathered at the back of the club, and before he knew it he heard people cheering, some of them placing bets. Hwitaek knew how to fight, that much was certain, but Jungkook liked to think he wasn’t easy meat either. Between hits, he looked up and scanned the mob for Jimin, and for a few moments saw him standing on one of the upper floors. Watching, stone-faced, Daeho beside him. At one point, the older man had turned to Jimin to ask something, but he only looked at Jungkook and shook his head.

He winced, somehow his body wasn’t the thing that hurt the most. Still, Jimin was here, wasn’t he? But then…why? Between the makeup and the singing and the drugged CEOs, it was obvious that he didn’t know Jimin as much as he’d thought. 

_Everyone has secrets._

Jungkook willed his eyes open, and in a few blinks he was able to take in his surroundings and who else was there with him. Mint curtains surrounded the bed, and cut-outs of _Pororo and Friends_ hung from strings on the plasterboard ceiling. Jungkook could make out large letters on the wall announcing that he was at the Pediatric Emergency Ward. _Great,_ he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

“Hey there, buddy,” the person beside his bed greeted him, but all he could offer back was a brow knotted in mild confusion. This tiny movement made him aware of the stitches on his left cheek, as the skin felt tight where the surgical thread kept it together over a cheekbone. He remembers getting pushed and dragged face-first against the wet pavement.

By contrast, the stranger beside his bed had a face that looked like it belonged in a glossy magazine. The young man was tall, and his features made Jungkook think of a fox: high cheekbones and a sharp jaw tapering to a handsome chin. He had a phone in one hand and seemed to be busy messaging someone, but when Jungkook woke up, he stood to attention. In spite of the dark circles under his eyes and his bare face, he was beautiful. Jungkook was almost too stunned to speak.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out. His voice was hoarse and his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. By force of habit, Jungkook scanned his surroundings and noticed a bulky camera bag on top of a large duffel bag on the floor. 

“Does it hurt a lot?” the stranger asked. There was a hint of amusement in his voice mixed with genuine concern, and the teensiest trace of envy. “The doctor said the stitches’ll help but there might still be a bit of a scar,” he sighed, interrupting JK’s thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You’re not Hwitaek, are you?” Jungkook frowned, to which the stranger’s lips broke into a grin.

“Well,” he sighed. “I feel sorry for his face, too. His poor nose. Why would pretty boys want to get in fights, I have no idea.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to answer that, and he supposed it was a rhetorical question, but then the curtain around the bed parted and his breath hitched.

It wasn’t Jimin.

Instead, another tall stranger with jet black hair and silver-framed eyeglasses stood at the open space between the drapes. Jungkook had to wonder what was up with this hospital and whether it allowed only the devastatingly beautiful to come and watch patients. Again, he had the uneasy suspicion that he wasn’t quite awake or on the planet Earth.

“Oh, you’re awake,” this other stranger said. They walked closer to the first stranger and handed them a cup of what Jungkook assumed was coffee. “Did Blackbill get back to you yet?”

“Uh, yeah,” the first one answered, stowing his phone in a pocket. “We’re lucky Wong didn’t shit his pants too bad.”

“Well, that’s the magic of Momotaro for you,” the second stranger mused, taking up position on the opposite side of Jungkook’s bed.

“Speaking of shitting pants,” the first one smirked, very good-naturedly, as if they were discussing something as trivial as the weather. “You ready for later?”

“Of course,” the other rolled their eyes, long lashes fluttering against his rosy cheek. “You didn’t forget your camera equipment, did you?”

“Got ‘em right here,” the fox-faced stranger answered, gesturing to the bags Jungkook had noticed earlier. For his part, the conversation was so bizarre that he found himself as if stupefied.

“Who _are_ you?” Jungkook was finally able to cut in. The two of them looked at him and then exchanged glances. It wasn’t very reassuring.

“It’s Gigi,” the first stranger replied, the shadow of a smirk still on his fox face. “But when I’m not working, people call me Shinwon.”

“My name’s Yan An,” the other gave him a calm smile. “You can still call me Anie.”

“Come on, Kookie-ssi,” Shinwon scoffed when he saw how big and round Jungkook’s eyes were getting. “Don’t look so shocked. After Jimin and all––”

“It’s just the way his eyes are, I think,” Anie interrupted, peering into Jungkook’s face again like they had the previous night. Without the makeup and the false eyelashes, it now seemed that Anie did this because their eyesight wasn’t the best and they always had to have a closer look. They smelled like menthol cigarettes with a subtle touch of flowers and the color green. Jungkook remembered the wildflowers in their hair. _Eolleji_. “Well, minus the black-eye-y-ness of it all.” He wasn’t sure that that was a real word.

“Where’s J––” before Jungkook could finish his question, he was cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind the curtain. He’d been so distracted that he didn’t even notice the shadows that had assembled there.

They stared at the curtain as it parted again, this time revealing Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi, both looking worse for wear. Namjoon‘s eyes flitted from Jungkook to the two boys flanking him. Yoongi took one look at JK’s beaten face before throwing his hands up in exasperation, turning and mumbling something to Namjoon. Jungkook didn’t catch it, but he supposed it wasn’t something good. He expected Namjoon to relay it to him in some diplomatic kind of way, but instead, he said,

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Jungkook thought the question was directed to him and so sucked a breath in to explain, but then he saw that Namjoon’s eyes were instead fixed on Shinwon. 

“Namjoonie?” Shinwon’s brows shot up, then he let out an amused chuckle and turned to Jungkook. “Ah, so that’s why you looked so familiar.” Jungkook didn’t understand. He and Namjoon looked nothing alike. Shinwon saw the confusion in the boy’s scruffed up face and added, “You have this look.”

“ _What are you doing here, Ko Shinwon?_ ” Namjoon repeated, much firmer this time. Shinwon continued to smirk but cast his gaze down. He looked like he was thinking hard on what to say, and in flash, Jungkook remembered where he’d seen Shinwon before. The photograph of Underaged Namjoon wasted at a bar, his arm around a pretty boy’s waist. _Ko Shinwon was the pretty boy._

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but then Jimin returned with a nurse and he felt his blood rush to his face so fast, it made him dizzy.

“Excuse me, there’s too many of you in here,” the nurse snapped. 

He wasn’t much shorter than Yoongi or even Jimin, but his loose scrubs made him look tiny. Yet, the authority in his voice surprised Jungkook, and all five of them blinked back as he stood there. “If you’re not family, please leave. This is an emergency room, not the waiting area for Inkigayo.”

“He’s my brother,” Yoongi’s scratchy voice piped up from behind them and the nurse considered him for a moment. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of Namjoon. “I’m his older brother.” Jungkook couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or heartwarming. Either way, he figured it was better if he kept quiet.

“Hey, you look familiar,” the nurse said after a few beats of silence. This seemed to take Yoongi aback and his brows knotted. “Aren’t you Jung Hoseok’s friend?” Yoongi’s mouth hung open, unsure of whether he’d been caught in a lie or if he should play along. 

“Well, then, Jungkook-ssi,” Shinwon piped up, shattering the awkward silence. “We’ll see you later.” He flashed the nurse a charming, toothy smile and cast a glance toward Namjoon, who still looked like he’d seen a ghost. Anie gave his foot a comforting pat and followed behind them. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you,” the nurse said, then spoke in a quieter voice. “My—“ he paused as if he’d caught himself before saying something secret. “My friend Hongseok works on Hobi’s car. Buttercup yellow ’73 Oldsmobile Cutlass, right?” Yoongi nodded. “My name’s Jo Jinho. 92-liner.”

“Ah, hyung!” Yoongi’s face relaxed. “Yes, I remember. We’ve met. I didn’t know you were a nurse.” Jinho smiled, but then Jimin made a big gesture of clearing his throat. Jungkook had been watching the whole interaction as if mesmerized.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” the nurse Jinho turned to him and then fixed him a puzzled look. “And you are?”

“I—“ his eyes flicked to Jungkook on the hospital bed. “I’m his friend. We brought him.” _Some friend._

“OK then,” Jinho tapped his pen on the clipboard. “Would you care to tell us what happened?” Jimin stared Jungkook down from the corner of his eye. After another gap of silence, Jinho narrowed his eyes and added, “Look, we need to ask these things because he’s a minor. We can’t have kids getting beat up around here.”

“I fell,” Jungkook spoke up. Jinho and Yoongi eyed him with suspicion. “It’s true. I do nighttime freerunning and I…fell,” he paused to swallow and looked at the nurse straight in the eye. “I actually have a record here, and as you can see from my hyung’s reaction, this isn’t the first time.” Jinho turned to Yoongi, who only closed his eyes and nodded.

“What can I say, he’s a dipshit,” he intoned.

“Hmm, oh…kay,” Jinho replied. He sounded unconvinced for the most part but didn’t push further. After all, if he was friends with Hoseok, then he likely knew the truth. Jungkook wouldn’t be the first and the last minor to get rushed to the ER because of a fistfight. After a few more questions, Jinho excused himself to prepare for Jungkook’s discharge.

“Freerunning?” Yoongi spoke up first after he’d left. Jungkook thought he’d be the most comfortable with awkward silences. Then again, he supposed they called them that for a reason. “Is that like, parkour or something?” Jungkook pursed his lips, and Jimin let out a small chuckle, a lilt to his voice that almost made Jungkook feel like things were normal between them. Yoongi turned to him, interrupting this, “Uh, it’s alright, I’ll take it from here. You can leave.”

Jimin scowled, taken aback. Then, with a sardonic smile, he asked, “Why? Are you his real brother?”

“Yeah? What kind of real friend lets a kid get beat up in Hongdae?” Yoongi countered, unfazed. Jungkook didn’t know if he was imagining it, but Jimin seemed hurt, which made him look even scarier. 

“He wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place,” the pink-haired boy hissed. “Maybe if you did a better job at being his ‘brother’—“

“Can both of you please shut up?” Jungkook raised his voice, sending spikes of pain through his rib. “I’m fine, I just want to go home.”

Despite his bitter feelings, Jungkook found that he didn’t relish seeing Jimin hurt or Yoongi so upset. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said. “But I mean it, Jungkook,” he raised his eyes to meet Jungkook’s. “Stay away from me, and from whatever he’s got you into.” He glared at Yoongi, who only narrowed his eyes back. Jimin turned on his heel, not giving the other boy a chance to respond, and then Yoongi and Jungkook were alone.

Whatever Min Yoongi was, he wasn’t a jerk, and so he’d shut his mouth as Jungkook had asked. They stood there in silence for a while, until Jinho came back with some paperwork in his hands.

“He needs to come back in three to five days to get the stitches out,” he advised, handing Yoongi the papers and some meds. “The eye will get worse before it gets better, apply cold packs from time to time. Don’t forget to make him take his meds at the right time.” He glanced at JK and gave him a reassuring smile. “You look like a strong kid, you’ll get better in no time. Still, try not to get into more, uh, falls. Take care.” Jungkook thanked him and bobbed his head as Yoongi helped him up out of the bed.

The older boy remained quiet as they walked out of the hospital, and Jungkook tried to keep up with his strides. Somehow, Min Yoongi reminded him of his own mother, which was admittedly an odd thing to remember at an odd time. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket (apparently someone had it charged while he was passed out. He’d have to check later if anyone tried to unlock it). As he reached for it his fingers met with the familiar feel of plastic and cardboard. God, a smoke would be really nice right about now.

“Hyung, I—“

“Save it,” Yoongi cut him off, squinting as sunlight in the parking lot flooded his vision. Namjoon and Shinwon stood some distance away, talking. They weren’t fighting, but there was something in their stances that didn’t quite bode well. Jimin and Anie waited by the curb, and Jungkook tried to avoid looking in their direction.

“I was just gonna say I need to go to the bathroom,” Jungkook muttered. Yoongi gave him a sideways look and a slight nod of his head. Without a second thought, Jungkook turned but stopped short when he heard Yoongi ask.

“Do you need help?”

“Nuh— I mean, no. Thank you, hyung,” he offered a small smile to reassure him. “I’ll be quick.” Yoongi only shrugged, so Jungkook scurried on his way to avoid further awkwardness.

He reached the parking lot restroom and made a quick check that it was empty. The scent of bleach hung in the air, though this didn’t completely mask the odor of stale third-hand smoke clinging to the stained porcelain. _Huh. Kinda familiar,_ he thought.

He picked an empty stall at the restroom’s far end, right under an awning window, which he pried open carefully. Jungkook stood in the middle of the stall and checked his phone before taking out a lighter and the crumpled pack of cigarettes from the previous night. He stared at it for a while, as if it had grown unfamiliar in the hours that had passed. If he hadn’t been smoking on that roof, if he hadn’t seen Jimin walking down the street like a peach-haired hallucination…. If he hadn’t had to dig up dirt on two virtual strangers, _and_ if he hadn’t seen the photo of Namjoon and Shinwon at one of Seo Daeho’s parties… Well. He recognized a familiar sense of agitation that had been there since he was seven, as well as a vague feeling of sadness that seemed to loom over him like a gray storm over a horizon. The profound urge to chase them away with a few purifying puffs of smoke was there, too. Yet, there were a few more emotions in there that he knew less intimately: rejection, embarrassment…over someone who didn’t even factor into his life six months ago. Now he had a black eye and a stitched-up cheek, a bruised ego and instructions never to see Jimin again, and for what? He tamped down the bile rising up his throat, which the idea of smoking made even less appealing. 

Jungkook squared his jaw and let out a dejected breath as he shoved the pack of cigarettes back into the pocket of his dirty jeans. Looking down at it, the grunge on his pants made him realize how he reeked of gutter water and blood—maybe a hint of desperation—and suddenly he felt so appalled by everything that he’d allowed to happen. He took the pack out again and stepped out of the cubicle to throw it away.

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” said a tall, wide-shouldered young man waiting for him at the sinks. Jungkook didn’t have to look up to know that it was Seokjin.

“Am I supposed to say, ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’ now?” he answered, chucking the cigarettes in a bin.

“Pretty smug for a guy with a black eye,” Seokjin chuckled, taking in Jungkook’s full appearance and then checking his own on the mirror. He looked fine. Perhaps a little rumpled, his usually styled hair lying flat on the back of his head, but fine, on the whole. 

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head and was about to go through the motions of washing his hands, except the dressings there reminded him of the many tiny cuts and scrapes he’d acquired from the fight with Hwitaek.

“Sanitizer?” Seokjin held a small bottle at the ready, and Jungkook received it with a small nod.

“So where were you last night, hyung?” he asked. He genuinely wanted to know, remembering the worry he’d felt when Seokjin’s location pinged at the Han River. In a way, if Jungkook had never known that he was missing that night, he wouldn’t have gotten stressed enough to break dorm rules and smoke at the rooftop. Then, he wouldn’t have seen Jimin walking down the street like a peach-haired hallucination— He tried to cut this line of thinking short; it was useless to pass the buck.

“It’s a long story,” his hyung replied. “You quitting?” the attempt at diversion didn’t escape Jungkook. His eyes met with Seokjin’s and for a moment, he didn’t quite understand what he meant until the young man tilted his head toward the trash bin.

“Oh,” Jungkook blinked. “No, I—“ he paused, considering it. “I don’t know, maybe? I was thinking of cutting down anyway.” He looked up but Seokjin’s expression was unreadable. “You’re talking about the smoking, right?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin’s mouth curved into an easy smile. “Who knows, you might start smelling things again.”

“I think I already have,” he answered, wrinkling his nose as he looked around him.

“That’s good, then,” Seokjin mused, eyes still locked onto Jungkook’s so intensely that the boy wanted to squirm.

“Are you two about done with this little meeting?” someone said from the restroom door. Again, Jungkook didn’t have to look up all the way to know that it was Kim Taehyung. His deep voice always gave him away. “I would like to be fed.”

A soft chortle escaped Seokjin’s shapely throat, then he pivoted on his heel and walked out. Jungkook followed behind him, and as he passed Taehyung, the older boy flashed him a kind smile.

“There’s our little street fighter,” he beamed. Jungkook’s cheeks flushed an involuntary pink, and he bowed his head to try and hide it. It was only a tiny bit effective and Taehyung’s smile turned into a wide grin. He hardly minded that Taehyung had called him little. 

They arrived at the parking lot in time for a white BMW M5 to pull up in front of Jimin, Anie, and Shinwon at the hospital sidewalk. Yoongi stood with Namjoon right in the spot where Jungkook saw him last. The window on the driver’s side rolled down and Hwitaek’s face emerged, a bandage on the bridge of his nose and his lower lip busted. If he was feeling as much pain as Jungkook was at the moment, he was not showing it. He gave Shinwon and Yanan a sharp look each before cocking his head as a signal for Jimin to get inside the car.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if it was the momentary loss of depth perception or if he’d been too focused on Hwitaek, but he found himself bumping straight into Seokjin’s broad back as he walked. Taehyung stood still beside him, and he saw that their hyung had stopped in his tracks on purpose.

The window on the BMW’s backseat rolled down.

Jungkook recognized Daeho from the night before, and while the three of them were at a safe distance not to be seen, the man they would be stealing from regarded Namjoon as an apex predator would its prey. 

—-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _seori_ is “the stealing of grain, fruit, and poultry for fun among children to satiate their hunger when there was food shortage during the agricultural off-seasons” ([Encyclopedia of Korean Folk Culture Website](http://folkency.nfm.go.kr/en/topic/detail/1546)). Yes, it’s a Bong Joon Ho reference from his movie, The Host.
> 
> Thank you for reading and please do tell me what you think! I hope everyone is staying safe and social distancing. Please keep well and healthy, everyone. ^-^


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